Harry Potter, the Time Turner and the Fire Whisky
by robster72
Summary: Chapter Sixteen uploaded. Harry, Ron and Hermione are lost in time and space with just an adapted time turner and a lack of firewhisky to keep them going and Voldemort is closing in on them... Ridiculous cross over now in the romance section! With thank
1. A very bad idea

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. With thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me.

**Chapter One - The time turner, Harry Potter, and the fire whisky**

Harry Potter, Hermione and Ron were celebrating finishing their OWLS. They were celebrating it in Hogsmeade. To be absolutely specific they were celebrating it in The Hogs Head. This was rather an interesting bar that smelt of goats and cows, or more specifically what used to be in goats and cows and what was probably originally a whole range of interesting plants, now properly digested. You might think it strange that they would choose to celebrate finishing their exams in such a smelly place?

Well this place, smelly or not, had some of the most interesting licensing laws in Britain. I'm not just talking about a driver's licence or a licence to breed strange frogs. This was a drinks licence, and by drink I mean alcohol, and the interesting thing about their licence was it specifically said they were allowed to sell alcohol to children. This was a law passed by Cuthbert the Unsteady in 562AD and the main reason he passed this law was that he was ten himself. Admittedly, before the law was passed he was known as Cuthbert the Sensible.

"Pass another Fire Whisky, Hermy," mumbled Ron.

"We're not used to this stuff, we should be carpetful."

Harry started waggling his finger at Hermione. "What about carpets?"

"Carpets, who's talking about carpets?"

"You are," said Ron, going distinctly green, "and that reminds me I need to add something to this one." He stared owlishly at the floor, gulped a couple of times and then sat up again. "I need another drink, I don't feel well."

"What were we talking about?" said Harry.

Ron started crying. "You're my best gate, Harry." He looked confused. "Late? Fate? Mate! You're my best mate, Carry."

"Who's Carry?"

"Everyone shut up a moment," said Hermione. "We were talking about getting Harry's parents back."

"It's a lovely idea, Hermyeaohnoen, but it happened in the past. The past." Harry picked up a bottle. "Let me demonstrate. This bottle is in the present. I drop it." It fell on the floor and smashed. "And now it is in the past."

"That was a full bottle of fire whisky! Can't you demonstrate your idea on an empty bottle like this one?" Ron handed Harry another bottle. Harry dropped that on the floor as well and it broke.

"That's what I mean," said Hermione. "Look, if I say Reparo-" She pointed her wand at the broken bottles and they both magically sealed up and leapt back onto the table, minus the contents unfortunately. "I've got this time turner thingy." She took out a small egg timer from her pocket. "If I turn it over we go back one hour in time. Am I right or am I right?"

"Does that mean we can go back in time and stop Harry breaking that bottle?"

said Ron hopefully.

"Not just that, if I make a few changes to this time turner we can go back and save Harry's parents from Moldyfort."

"You'd do that for me?" said Harry, his lower lip wobbling.

"Anything to stop you winging, mate," said Ron.

"I'm sure there's some sort of wizarding law about interfering with time or something," said Hermione.

"You need another fire whisky," said Ron and passed Hermione another glass.

She supped it down. "What, what was I talking about?" She looked at the time turner on the table. "Oh yes, that was it." She pointed her wand at the time turner. "Aximisemay imetay." The time turner changed into what looked like a mobile phone with a keypad and two small screens. "We put in the date and time that Harry's parents got attacked by Voldysort and this under here we type in the location. Press the green button and hey presto!"

The world swirled. Or rather the world didn't swirl, it just seemed that way to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Going time travelling when you're drunk is never a good idea. What was inside Ron ended up being outside Ron. The experience had not improved the look of the drink and it had not improved his robes.

Harry looked about him. They were in a garden of a cottage in a small village. Dusk was just beginning to fall. Above him he could several owls fluttering about and the first of the bats was out hunting. The cottage had a cheerful glow to the windows. He could the sound of a baby gurgling happily to itself and a woman's voice singing a lullaby.

"Quick, down!" he hissed to Ron and Hermione. They all ducked down behind a begonia and they could see a cloaked man glide up the path. He was at least seven foot tall and one white hand, all they could see of him, was holding a wand. The air practically crackled with potential magic.

"I'm going to get Coldysort," said Harry and stood up.

"Harry, get down!" said Hermione.

"Where are we?" said Ron.

"He's going to kill my parents! I've got to stop him." Harry stood up. "Hey Voldy! Yes you!" Harry stood up. Voldemort stopped walking towards the doorway and looked in bewilderment at this teenager. "You think you're so big and clever." Harry walked out in front of Voldemort. "I'm a dark wizard. My name's Smellytrousers. I bet everybody hated you at school. You were probably that spotty, smelly weird kid who everyone made fun of."

"Who are you?" hissed Voldemort.

"I am Harry bleeding Potter, sonny. Everybody knows me. I survived being killed by Voldetrousers." Harry looked thoughtful at this. "Hang on, you're smelly pants?"

"You will pay for this slur," said Voldemort and raised his wand.

"Get down!" said Ron and leapt on top of Harry. The spell seared above Harry. He could feel the heat of it as it passed him. Behind him a garden shed exploded, sending forks, spades and garden gnomes flying.

In the cottage behind him he could hear the sounds of panic. The baby stopped crying and from the back of house could be seen two broomsticks taking off, with one of the people on the broom sticks carrying a baby.

"Harry!" said Hermione. She grabbed Harry and Ron and pressed a button on the time phone.

Voldemort raised his wand again and pointed it at the three of them.

Again there was a swirling effect and they were all three deposited back in the bar.

"I feel sick again," said Ron and promptly was. The goats in the bar enjoyed this addition to their diet.

"I don't feel well either," said Harry and got his feet. "What happened back there?"

"I don't know," said Hermione," and right now I don't care. Come on, let's go back to Soggywarts to bed."

"You read my mind," said Ron, putting an arm round Hermione. "You know Smermione, why did we never get together? We could have been so light. I mean right."

"Let's just be friends," said Hermione.

"Yes," said Ron. "Friends. That's exactly what I meant." Ron looked over at Harry. "What's happened to your face, mate?"

"What do you mean?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, scar boy, but one of your defining characteristics, apart from complaining about everything - "_Oh my scar hurts, oh my parents have been killed, and oh woe is me. The whole world hates me_." - is you have a scar shaped in the just right place and shape to get lots of female sympathy."

"Well yes, you know I do."

"Where is it now?"

Harry walked up to a dusty old mirror on the wall. He wiped the mirror with a sleeve and looked in it. There was his face. Fairly thin and pale, showing too much staying in and studying and not enough exercise and fresh air. Dark brown hair in an unruly mop. Round glasses, and there above them… Nothing. Nothing there at all. Not a scar. There was a small spot that looked like it might do its own version of Mount Vesuvius soon but no scar. Harry pushed his hair back from the other side. Nope, not there either.

Strange drink-like logic took Harry's mind. Maybe the scar's moved. Do scars migrate like Wildebeest? He vaguely remembered some nature program about migrations. Unfortunately his mind kept thinking of Wildebeests mating. He shuddered. Anyway, maybe the scar has gone south. He started taking off his shirt.

"HARRY WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" shouted Hermione.

"I'm seeing where the scar has gone, you stupid women," said Harry shaking his head at having to explain something quite so obvious.

"You are not taking your clothes off here!"

"Okay," said Harry, buttoning up his shirt. "We'll wait till we get back then, shall we?" And gave Hermione what he mistakenly thought was a sexy smile.

Hermione shuddered. One of the reasons women often went for older men was in the mistaken belief that men matured with age. This belief has kept the human race going for millions of years. Unfortunately men tend to mature like a pint of milk left in the sun. They tend to get a thicker skin, more hair and start smelling. Fortunately, just before girls notice this, the love gene kicks in. When I say kicks in, it tends to kick out any grain of common sense women have, and also that small voice (normally their friends) of people saying "_You don't really love them do you, they've got nostril hair_!" Anyway Hermione had not been affected by this yet, which explains why there are not lots of little Harry Potters running around looking cute and complaining about having parents and why they haven't got a series of books named after them.

They walked out of the Hogs Head and out into the street. The cold air immediately had a sobering effect on them.

"I feel terrible," said Harry. "Come on, let's get back to school." He looked above him and could see a dementor glide above him. A cold feeling gripped his heart. "I think we should hurry. I don't like those things."

They ran up the path towards the school. "Stop, Harry, stop!" shouted Hermione. "Look at this sign."

There was a large wooden board outside the school. It had the name of the school, the headmaster and who to shout at if any of the children from the school were using your garden wall as a meeting point or filling your pond with empty bottles of beer and fag ends.

"What? What?" said Harry. His eyes scanned the sign for two whole minutes before he noticed what was there. Where it said "Headmaster – Dumbledore" it now said "Headmaster – Voldemort."


	2. Defence against the Light Arts

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course apart from some owned by George Lucas. With thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and all my reviewers so far!

**Chapter Two - The Harry Potter,the Time Turnerand the Fire Whisky**

Harry Potter turned to the other two.

"Voldemort… Moldyvort is headmaster? How in the name of all that is hairy did that happen?"

"Eerrm, Harry," said Hermione in a small voice. "I think us stopping Voldemort killing your parents, stopped him attacking you which in turn stopped him dying and now for some strange reason he is headmaster."

"Come on, you three!" said a cheery voice behind them. They looked back and could see Neville bustling them into the school with un-Neville like enthusiasm.

"Where are you pushing us?" said Harry.

"Lessons! Lessons!"

"We've just finished our Owls," said Hermione.

"What are Owls?"

"Exams! Exams!"

"Don't talk daft; we haven't got our Terds for a good few weeks?"

"Terds?" asked Ron.

"Totally Evil Regional District examS. I know the S is redundant but otherwise it would be Terde which would be stupid."

"Riiiiiiiggggggggghhhhhhttttt," said Hermione whilst simultaneously miming a circle around her ear in the international sign of "this guy is really stupid."

They followed Neville into the school. The place was darker and grimier than it used to be and it had lots of pictures of old dark wizards on the wall. These wizards were scowling and tapping the frames as they passed. Several of them were stroking white cats. Most people wonder why having a white cat makes people evil but they obviously haven't been to a cat show. The wizards were a fairly battered looking lot.

They walked into a classroom and sat down. There in front of them were all their old friends but all seemed subtly different. Harry tried to fight through the fire whisky to work out what was different with them.

A teacher came walking in. Snape. "Right good of you to join us, Potter." He walked up to Harry and started sniffing. "Have you been drinking?"

"What, me, sir?" said Harry, looking shocked. "Of course not! Of course not!"

"Typical Potter," hissed Snape. He handed him a bottle of fire whisky. "Never prepared for his lessons."

Three glasses appeared in front of them. Harry poured out a glass each. "Come on, drink up."

Hermione looked at the glass like it would explode and turned a strange shade of green. "I don't want any more drink."

"I'll drink it for you!" said Ron. "Because that's how nice I am."

"This is the Defence Against the Light Arts lesson," said Snape, walking about the room. He pointed at Hermione. "Right; pop quiz, Hermyioneoene: a flower seller approaches you. What do you do? What do you do?"

"Buy some flowers? You know, some pretty begonias or something?"

There was a shocked muttering from her classmates including Ron although he used the muttering sound to fill his glass up again quietly.

"Are you a light wizard?" hissed Snape, he waved his wand behind him and a pretty blonde flower seller appeared. Harry's classmates left their desks and cowered at the back of the room. "You don't need to be scared, I'm here. She can not harm you."

"Daffodils, fiver a bunch!" asked the chirpy looking flower seller as she flashed them a perfect smile. "Have a wonderful joy filled day!"

Snape winced at this as the smell of fresh flowers permeated the classroom. "Hurry, I can not take much more of this! Deal with her!"

"It's a lovely gorgeous day! There's a smile in my heart. You can have a free flower!"

"Nooooooo!" hissed Snape, his head turning a strange green colour.

Neville drew his wand and said. "Explodia Evilia Floweria Sellia!" The flower seller exploded in ball of flame, smoke and petals.

Bits of flower and petal rained down gently on the classroom.

"Well done, Neville," said Snape, sitting back down. He was still shaking. "Right, for our next lesson we need a port key." He opened up a desk drawer and removed a yellowing skull from its depths. "Gather round me everyone, and hold your breath. We are going to a place where the pure stench of evil has yet to corrupt the place."

Ron picked up the bottle and followed Harry to the front of the class. There was a flash of light and they were standing at a beautiful blue lakeside. Rolling green hills were in the distance. There on the lake were several white yachts gently sailing back and forth across the mirror-like water. At their feet were several rabbits gambling (gambling, not gambolling; they actually had several cards in each paw and were betting for daisies). A few deer were munching on magic mushrooms and having a wild hallucinogenic fit involving purple elephants and yellow wildebeest. Judging by the conversation (which Harry somehow understood) they were having fun, although what the anteater was there for he didn't know.

When he looked again at the yachts he realised they were firing guns at each other and what he thought were white clouds were in fact smoke caused by the battle. He also noticed several traffic wardens about, clamping anything and anyone that wasn't nailed down. Several trees were in the process of being towed away.

"We went here last week," said Neville in a bored tone. "We've already corrupted this place."

"Yes of course," said Snape. "Stupid skull. I can never program the thing properly." He pressed a few teeth down and they disappeared again. "You have to speak four languages just to understand the instructions."

There was a flash of light. They looked around again and they were at a flower market in London. Completely surrounded by flower sellers.

"Hello, duck! Have some begonias. Have some tulips. Have a wonderful joy filled life! I love you all!"

"Eeeuurrrrgggghhh!" said Snape, and pressed another tooth down again. They disappeared again in a flash of light. "Way, way too advanced. That's not till next year." Snape was physically shaking. "I'm sorry class, this has been too much for me. Class dismissed."

They filed out of the classroom. Ron took the bottle with him. He was concerned it might feel lonely so he picked up another bottle as he walked out. Then he was worried the two bottles might feel awkward being together and run out of things to say so he picked up a third. But what if the first two bottles got friendly and left the other one out? The other bottle might feel lonely. He picked up a fourth.

He was clinking and wobbling from side to side. "Can I have some more fire whisky, Ron?" asked Harry. "I need to do some serious drinking." Hermione glared at him. "Thinking! Thinking! I need to do some serious thinking." He slugged back on the fire whisky. "Fire whisky helps me think."

He pulled the other two to one side. "Right, we've got to go back in time and stop this happening."

"We should try and plan this properly first," said Hermione.

"Have a drink," said Ron, generously filling a glass up for her.

"Thanks," said Hermione and slugged it back in one shot. "Thanksh. What wash I shaying?"

"How much you like me?" asked Ron hopefully.

"There is something about your spots that I find curiously attractive, Ronald," said Harry.

"Not you!" said Ron, backing away. "Her!"

"Anyway, anyway," said Harry, trying to recover. Damn this firewhisky! He picked up the time phone from Hermione and pressed in a few buttons.

The world seemed to swirl and they travelled…

When they next landed they were in a steel grey room full of people attached to headphones. They were in a call centre. Harry listened to the one-sided conversations around him.

"Right, so your planet has disappeared." The girl nodded her head as she listened. "And you think it was our Death Star that destroyed it. Did you take the registration number of the Death Star? Well, if you didn't it makes it difficult for us to validate your claim. Just a minute, I have a VIP call on line two…"

She clicked a button. "Hello, Mr Vader, how is that Death Star we sold you?" She sipped on her coffee. "I'm sorry to hear that. If you return it in its original packaging we can send another one out to you. Oh I see, it got blown up. Did you not fix the metal trap door to the weak spot as the instructions mentioned?" She nibbled on a biscuit. "Well, it makes it difficult for us to eerggh!" She grasped her throat. "Sorry, I choked a moment. We'll get a replacement sent out to you as soon as possible. What colour do you want it in?" She pressed a few buttons on her computer screen. "Well we have purple and pink at the moment. It might take a while for another one to turn up in grey. Just a minute, we have a spare one here minus a few bits though but it does still work, we'll deliver it Tuesday week for you."

She listened a while longer. "If you're not in we can leave it parked round your nearest planet. Have you a neighbour we can leave the keys with? No? What about your son then?" There was a mixture of swearing and shouting from the other side. "Okay, not your son then. Crashed the last one did he? Your insurance premiums will go up I'm afraid. Do you want fire, theft and rebel alliances on your next premium? Have you tried using the Force? Oh, you find my lack of faith disturbing do you?" She shook her head to a colleague, put her phone on silent and mouthed, "I've got a right one here!" She put the phone off silent and carried on. "Okay, we'll get it to you as soon as possible. Any problems, please feel free to call."

Hermione turned to Harry and Ron. "Where are we?"

"I don't know, but this place does not look like Soggywarts," said Harry. The room was starting to swirl a bit but that was caused by fire whisky more than anything.

"Give me that time phone!" said Ron. He pressed a few buttons and the world swirled again…

This time when the world got back into some sort of order they could see trees. Lots of green trees. In fact rather more trees than most people could see in one time. Normally if you stand in front of a forest or a wood you can see possibly several hundred trees. If however you were standing above a forest you would see thousands and thousands of trees. Unfortunately they were not standing above the forest; they were falling towards the forest from a height of about 25,000 feet; they could see millions of trees. If that number is too high for you to comprehend don't worry it will be going down very shortly as will they…


	3. The neverending quest for fire whisky

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. With special thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me.

**Chapter Three - The time turner, Harry Potter and the fire whisky**

The wind was whistling past their ears.

"I don't feel well," said Ron. He tried to drink from his bottle of fire whisky as he was falling. Unfortunately the whisky missed his mouth and scattered to the heavens. As a side note, later a flock of starlings, flying below them, who were raising their mouths in song suddenly found after a sip of fire whisky, their songs were rated with a "parental guidance" label.

Harry looked over at Hermione. "Hermione, with you flying like that I can see right up…"

"Harry we need to get out of here now," said Hermione.

"Why, this place is fine," said Harry, raising his hands. "Besides the fresh air will do us all good. It's certainly clearing my head."

"The fresh air will do us good, the ground will not."

"There's lots of trees, it's nice and soft." Harry gestured over the distance. "See lots of trees." He frowned a bit. "Actually there are a few less trees now. Why are there less trees now?"

"I haven't time to explain the concept of gravity to you," said Hermione. "We need to get the time phone now. Where's Ron?"

"He spilt some fire whisky," said Harry pointing to a distant figure who was opening his mouth and trying to chase after a few droplets of fire whisky dropping in the sky. "He's trying to get it back."

"We need that time phone!" squealed Hermione.

"Hermione please!" said Harry, holding his ears. "I'm getting a headache, don't scream!"

"A headache! A headache! You'll get worse than that! We're falling! We need to get to Ron."

Hermione started flapping like a huge ill ostrich towards Ron.

Harry shook his head and tried to follow her. He didn't know what the fuss was about. They'd be on the ground soon enough! What was the worry about? Sure they were falling rather fast but that just meant they would get there sooner.

Harry grabbed Hermione's foot to try and stop her getting away. Hermione grabbed Ron's trousers. On the plus side Ron had put the time phone into his pocket but on the minus side Ron was not in his trousers anymore. This was not a sight that impressed either Hermione or Harry.

Hermione made another grab for Ron and pressed some random buttons on the phone. Just before they hit the ground they disappeared.

"Where are we now?" said Harry, his eyes screwed up tight shut.

"Buildings," said Ron.

"What type of buildings?"

"Marble ones."

"What are the people like?"

"Sod the people," said Ron, getting to his feet. "Where can we get a drink around here? And Hermione, why have you got my trousers?" Ron thought about this a moment. "If you've got my trousers, what am I wearing?" He looked down and screamed. He snatched the trousers from Hermione and put them on.

Harry opened his eyes. The first thing he could see was sand. Sand is good. You get sand in beaches. Maybe they were on a beach? He got to his feet. Well, Ron was right about the marble. Lots of marble. In a building surrounding the beach.

He thought about it a moment. Why would they surround a beach with a building? In fact if this was a beach wouldn't there be some sort of water feature about?

Nope, nothing like that. A few lions here and there and some very big muscular men wearing some sort of body armour. Maybe it was the muscle beach?

He looked about. People. Lots of people. Lots of cheering people. Lots of people with their thumbs down and cheering?

He gave them a cheery thumbs up and looked over at Hermione who was looking rather scared.

"Hermeoneiene, where are we?"

"Caulifower, collisisuseum, collcollipoodle, collisieum! We're in the Roman Coliseum!"

"Excuse me a moment," said Harry as he raised his hand to a huge gladiator that was just about to slice through his neck. "We're having a conversation here. What's a Coliseum?" He looked over at Ron who was speaking slowly to a huge gladiator.

"I want to know where to buy some more of this?" He waved an empty bottle of fire whisky under the gladiator's nose. "Do you understand? Fire whisky?" The crowd was booing and heckling this poor show of fighting. "DO YOU MIND! DO YOU MIND!" he shouted at the crowds. He turned to them. "Actually, do any of you know about fire whisky? What about you? Bloke wearing a sheet on that balcony. What's your name? Caesar? Caesar? Seize who? That's a funny sort of name, isn't it? Why are you shouting, 'Gladiators kill them!' I'm trying to talk to you, that's not very polite is it!"

Ron ducked as a huge trident nearly took his head off. "Excuse me, I'm trying to talk to sheet boy up on that balcony. You're not winning any friends here, you do know that don't you?"

"Harry, grab Ron, we're getting out of here!" said Hermione, sticking her tongue out as she concentrated on programming the time phone. Harry grabbed Ron with one arm and Hermione with the other and pressed some random buttons on the phone. In a blaze of light and expensive special effects they disappeared…

The first thing they saw was a pub called "The Prancing Pony". Ron happily tottered over to it.

"Harry, stop Ron a moment, I need to work out where we are!"

Given instructions to follow Ron into a pub, Harry couldn't be happier! "Ron, wait up a moment, mate!"

He followed Ron into the pub. Ron marched up to the bar and said, "One pint of your finest fire whisky please, my good man." Ron didn't actually know if the barman was a good man or not and he wasn't in fact looking at the bar. He was looking around.

The barman was in fact a woman and rather put out at a small spotty teenager calling her a good man. She pointed out that she was neither good nor a man to Ron but Ron wasn't paying attention. There was a good reason that Ron wasn't paying attention and this had nothing to do with the clientele. Most of whom wouldn't look out of place in a jail. In fact if wasn't for a small quirk of fate, i.e. the only lawmaker around was busy feeding the worms and daisies - and I don't mean putting out little bowls of food for them - they would be.

"Harry, have you seen those short kids over there? How did they get served?" He turned back to the barmaid. "Where are our drinks?"

"Where's your money?"

"I've got two galleons," said Harry, showing her two gold coins.

"We don't take those." She looked at them curiously. "Are you sons of men?"

"No, sons of women. Men don't have babies!" Harry waved a circle around his ear to Ron but he had gone to talk to the short people to ask about money.

"What have you got around your neck?" said Ron, and pulled a necklace off one of them. The little man tried to grab it but Ron ignored him. "Here Harry, look at this! He's got a gold ring in a necklace around his neck." He pushed the small people down. "Maybe this is the local currency?" He walked up to the bar, ignoring the little men shouting at him. "How many drinks do I get for this?" He put the ring on and instantly disappeared.

To Ron's eyes the world turned a strange orange colour. In the distance he saw a fiery tower. Without seeming to move himself, the tower leapt into view. A huge fiery eye appeared in front of him.

"I see you!" hissed a voice.

"I see you as well, sunbeam. You don't have any fire whisky do you?"

"You are not of this earth?"

"No, I'm of this pub? Do you know where it's gone?"

"You are wearing the ring of power. Does it not corrupt the soul? Does it not release the spirit's true purpose?"

"Well, it makes me want another fire whisky if you're talking of spirit."

"I can offer you all the power you need!"

"I don't need power, I need fire whisky? Have you any fire whisky?"

"Well no, but I can offer..."

"Does this power offer any alcoholic beverages?"

"I can offer you dominion over all the species of the..."

"What about beer? Lager maybe? At a pinch even a bottle of wine? At this stage I'd even accept a bottle of anti-freeze."

"You can rule the world!"

"You can get stuffed! You won't get many takers if you don't offer any tangible benefits like fire whisky. Bye!" Ron took the ring off his finger and suddenly appeared back in the "The Prancing Pony".

"That was strange." He put the ring on the necklace back around the head of the smallest hobbit and patted him on the head. "I'd chuck that if I were you, son. Not very nice."

He turned around to see Hermione with her arms crossed. "Ron, you are an idiot."

"An idiot with a pint of beer!" he said and grabbed a pint from the nearest table. He picked up the phone from Hermione and pressed a few random buttons on it.

The world swirled again and they next appeared in a dark alley in a dingy looking city.

"Where are we now?" Asked Harry.

"Sod where we are, we want some more fire whisky," said Ron, finishing off the beer. "This beer is not bad but it's not fire whisky."

"Let's ask that bloke in the purple jacket."

"Hey you!" said Harry.

"This is all fun," said Hermione, shaking her head.

"Yes," said Ron. "Hey you! Purple jacket boy. Yes you. The bloke with the clown face!"

The man minced over to them, grinning away. "Hello boys. You know what happened to the last person who spoke to me like that?"

"Did you tell them where to get some fire whisky?" said Ron hopefully.

"No, I fed them their liver."


	4. That sinking feeling

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. Other characters are owned by their authors. With special thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and thanks for all the reviews!

**Chapter Four - The time turner, Harry Potter and the fire whisky**

"You fed them their liver?" said Ron, trying to keep a straight face. "Brrmpph!" he said, trying and failing not to laugh. "You're funny!"

The Joker glared at him. "Do I look funny to you?"

"Yes, you do."

"Do I make you laugh?"

"Well that liver gag was quite…"

"Do I look like a comedian to you?"

"Well you know, the clown face, the purple boots…"

"Shall I show you what really makes me laugh?" said the Joker, reaching into his pocket.

"Is it a bottle of fire whisky?" asked Ron hopefully.

"Fire whisky?" said the Joker, for once stumped for words.

"Yes, fire whisky, it comes in bottles like this," said Ron, drawing out an empty bottle from his pocket.

"No, this is what puts a smile on my face." The Joker drew out a gun covered in painted flowers.

"Excuse me, Mr," Hermione walked up to the Joker, she thought for a moment, "mime."

"Mime? MIME!" screamed the Joker. "I AM NOT A MIME! I CAN TALK! DO YOU EVER SEE A MIME TALKING!"

"Well, sometimes you see them talk in circuses," said Ron, thinking. To say this non-fire whisky related thought put a strain on his brain is like saying a mammoth has a slight body hair problem.

"Those are clowns," said the Joker wearily.

"Are you a clown?"asked Ron. The non-fire whisky thoughts that were whizzing around his head were almost sending smoke from his ears.

"I am not a clown!"

"What's with the makeup then? Are you a walking billboard for a cosmetics factory?"

Hermione bustled up to them. "We have to be going. I've programmed this properly now, we can get back to where we want to."

"Sorry, circus boy," said Ron. "Love the act by the way, but you rather overdo the lipstick."

"What's this?" asked the Joker, and snatched the time phone from Hermione. He pressed a few buttons. "Can't get a signal or anything?" He threw the phone back at Hermione.

"Oh no…" said Hermione as they all three faded from existence.

"Where are we now?" said Ron tiredly as he looked about him. "We're on board ship. Great. Hopefully they will have a bar."

"Ron, wait!" said Hermione. "Let me get my bearings as to where we are now." She got the phone and started to peer at it intently. "Harry, stop Ron!"

Harry happily tottered after Ron. He looked blearily eyed at where they were. This was a ship. Definitely a ship. A big ship in fact. A very big ship. Certain words were floating in the alcoholic haze that was Harry's mind. A gigantic ship. A gargantuan ship. That was a good word. That word needed real brains to think of. He was happy to have thought of that word. Now he needed to find a gargantuan drink to pickle his brains some more.

He followed Ron happily off the deck into a restaurant. He was surrounded by upper class English and American types. All in tuxedoes. They were all whittering on about what a great voyage this was and how they were saving time. Harry was still thinking of words. The word that floated to his mind now was drink. The sort of drink that would be nice with ice, in fact.

He joined Ron at the bar. "I'm looking for fire whisky."

"Never heard of him," said the barman, his eyebrows raised so high they could scare passing sea gulls. "Aren't you two a little young to be ordering drinks?"

"Aren't you a little sarcastic to be working behind the bar?" said Harry, dropping a gold Galleon on the bar.

The barman's eyes goggled at this and with one swift movement he palmed the coin. "What can I get you gentlemen that are definitely over 21?"

"I said wirefisky." Ron looked confused. "Fire whisky. That's it."

"We have normal whisky, gentlemen." He got two glasses out from behind the bar and put two shots of whisky in them. "There you are."

Ron peered at his suspiciously and then smelt it. "Hmmm." He spat it out. "Needs ice."

There was a huge crashing and cracking sound and several tonnes of ice came pouring into the room. On top of it, surfing the ice like a huge penguin, albeit a penguin with a hat, a cloak and the type of hair that is always used in the before shots for shampoo, was Hermione.

"Titanic! Titanic!" she squealed at Harry and Ron.

"Yes, it is a rather big ship," said Harry, looking about with an impressed look on his face.

"No, Titanic! It's a ship!"

Ron scooped up some ice from the floor and put it in his drink. He drank the whisky down in one gulp. He picked up another glass of whisky. "Well, I feel King of the World!"

"We're going to drown!" said Hermione.

"Please stop shouting," said Ron. "I'm trying to enjoy my whisky." The whisky started spilling. "Why am I spilling the whisky?"

"The ship is sinking!"

"The first bar that sells whisky is sinking." Ron started getting angry. "I can not believe it!" He grabbed the phone from Hermione and pressed some buttons down.

"No, I just programmed it again…"

They all disappeared in a flash of green light and flames.

"Oh, where are we now?" asked Hermione groggily. As the only one who hadn't had anything to drink for at least three scenes she was starting to recover some of her senses. Her senses did not like what they saw. They were in a metal room. There was some sort of cockpit in front of them with four people staring out the front. They were looking out at space. Infinite space. They were in a space ship of some kind.

One of the men in the cockpit turned round and saw them. He was wearing a tight fitting green uniform with the name Rimmer sewn into his jacket. Behind him was a man with a strange pink angular head. Almost robotic in look. There was a very stylish looking man behind him and a rather dilapidated, almost tramp like man behind them.

"I don't know who you three are," said Rimmer, putting up his hands. "But boarding our vessel in the middle of deep space flight is an act of tantamount aggression and according to space corp directive 4392048 we…"

"Space corp directive 4392048? Is that really apt sir? Here we are being boarded by interstellar," he sniffed a bit, "either pirates or members of the whisky marketing board, and you are worried about the correct colour the male urinals should be painted?"

"No, 4392049 then?"

"That's about making sure both the male and female toilets have the same sign outside. It is illegal to make anything gender specific now."

"What's that one about surrendering the vessel and lots of apologising for wasting their time then? The only surrender terms are that they supply rubber underwear?"

"43902050, sir but might I point out…"

"What, Kryten?"

"The spottier of our guests is currently looking in the ship's galley. And judging by his comments he is looking for something called fire whisky."

"Ah ha!" said Ron as he pulled out a bottle of something that was either alcoholic or used to clean the drains. Judging by the cast iron cork and the fact there was a strange smoke coming from round the top it could probably do both. Although to be honest if you poured it down the drains the resulting life forms that would emerge would make Aliens look as dangerous as a swarm of butterflies.

"Mr Lister sir," said Kryten to the man who looked like he bathed once a decade and he had missed out on the previous two.

"Who the smeg are you guys?" said Lister.

"Excuse me sir," said Kryten waggling his finger nervously at Ron. "I wouldn't recommend drinking that…"

"What's wrong with it?" said Ron, taking a swig of it. "Woah! It certainly has good body. Plenty of real fire to it." He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. For some reason he was left with a strange yellow foam moustache.

"That is urine recyk, sir," said Kryten. "Might I recommend you…"

They all disappeared again in a flash of light.

"That stuff is really, really," said Ron, screwing up his face, "not bad actually. Quite like shirefwisky in a stwange sort of way." He offered the bottle to Hermione. "Do you want some Shermnionioe?"

"I think I'll pass actually."

Harry grabbed it off Ron. "I'll have a bit." He poured some into his mouth. Where it fell on the metal floor smoke rose and started to eat through the metal.

A strange metal robot covered with round protuberances and what looked like an egg whisk and a sink plunger glued to its front, rolled towards them

"WHO ARE YOU?" A metallic sinister robotic voice said.

"What the hell are you?" said Ron. "Some sort of giant talking pepperpot? What's this sticking out the front?" Ron walked up to the strange creature. "Is this an egg whisk? Are you a cook?"

"WE ARE THE DALEK'S!" The lights on the top of the dalek glowed every time it spoke.

"Really?" said Ron. "You look like you crawled out of a garbage skip. What's this?" He waggled the front end of it. "Is this a sink plunger?"

"WE ARE THE RULERS OF THE UNIVERSE!"

"Well if you are the rulers, you can get me a drink," said Ron in a fascinating display of drunken logic that could probably keep a philosophy professor employed for a year on. "I could do with a fire whisky," he held his stomach. "Actually I'm not feeling too hot at the moment. I think that urine recyk is disagreeing with me. I could do with a doctor."

"DOCTOR!" There was a note of panic in the dalek's voice. "YOU KNOW THE DOCTOR! HE MUST BE EXTERMINATED. EXTERMINATE THE DOCTOR!"

"Doctor? Doctor who? Sod the doctor, I want a fire whisky," said Ron. He tapped the dalek on the dome. "Fire whisky! Fire whisky!"

"EXTERMINATE!"

Just before the dalek could blast Ron off the face of the universe Hermione and Harry dragged him back and pressed a button. It was probably a bit of luck for the dalek that he didn't shoot Ron. With the amount of whisky and alcohol in Ron the resulting explosion would have not only blown up the dalek battle fleet, and subsequently stopped the impending invasion of the ganymede quadrant, but consumed at least three neighbouring stars with it. As an interesting side note, in an alternative universe Ron managed to persuade the daleks that taking over the universe was more trouble than it was worth and they all got jobs in those trendy bars that have guitars nailed to the walls. In fact judging by the sound that most people can get out of guitars nailing them to the walls is a positive force for music.

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat down when the universe stopped moving again.

"Has everybody forgotten what we are meant to be doing?" asked Hermione, waving her hands at Ron and Harry.

"Getting some fire whisky," said Ron.

"Helping Ron get some fire whisky," agreed Harry.

"No! Voldemort has taken over Hogwarts! We have to stop him!" said Hermione, selfishly using all the exclamation marks for herself.

"Does Mole trousers sell Fire whisky?" asked Ron hopefully.

"Well, he is not best known for…"

"Sod that then," said Ron. "Where are we now then?" He looked about him. "In fact, I don't care where we are. All I want is some fire whisky…"

"I care that you don't care about the fire whisky," said Harry.

"I care that you don't care that I care about not caring for the fire whisky," said Ron.

"I care that you two are talking rubbish!" said Hermione. It is quite clear that we are…"

A huge shadow loomed over them. Judging by the expression on his face he was not there to sell them fire whisky…


	5. The truth is out there

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. Other characters are owned by their authors. With special thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and thanks for all the reviews!

**Chapter Five - The time turner, Harry Potter and the fire whisky**

"What the hell is that?" asked Ron as the dinosaur started sniffing them.

"It's a Tyrannosaurus Rex! What do you think it is?"

"Why is it sniffing me?"

"It's probably wondering about the smell," said Hermione. "You do have the interesting aroma of a pub at closing time about you. Specifically one whose toilets are blocked."

"That's not me, that's this," said Ron and threw the urine recyk at the dinosaur. The bottle smashed open in its mouth and it keeled over instantly. The fumes from the drink killed off a passing pterodactyl and started a virulent plague that wiped out the dinosaurs and in the future gave a thousand geologists something to talk about and to impress girls with (not that it actually worked but at least it gave them a conversation starter. It is probably God's way of stopping them breeding!).

Authors note – yes I am an amateur geologist and have I ever told you about the dinosaurs? Do you fancy seeing my collection of ammonites? Hello? Hello? Great, another cheap round!

* * *

"Could I have a receipt for that whisky please?" The man in the old raincoat shifted around and looked around at the people at the bar, fixing each one with a steely glare for any signs of alien influence.

"Certainly sir, that will be four dollars…" The barman peered at the card the man was showing him. "That's not a credit card. It says you are a member of the Star Trek convention VII? You can't pay with that."

"Sorry, not that card, this one…" The man showed another card.

"That says you're in the FBI, chief investigator of the X-files and your name is Fox Mulder."

"Yeah. So I'll have another drink."

"It's not a credit card. You still have to pay."

The man looked back at the barman and tutted. "Listen, you don't want the taxman to visit you, do you?"

"They already are, they are having their convention over there." The barman waved a group of suited men in the corner. They waved cheerily back at him. They were happily filling in tax relief forms for their office party.

A small red haired woman next to him handed over a ten-dollar bill. "I'll pay, Mulder. Remind me again. Why are we here?"

"There are stories that go back through the mists of time and they tell of…"

"Here you are, another whisky. Do you want another pack of potato chips?"

"Yes, yes. Salt and vinegar this time. Anyway there are stories going back a thousand years, more in fact, of a group of people who change time and then vanish."

"Change time and then vanish? What, some sort of intergalactic clock menders?"

"No. No!" said Mulder, who was rather enjoying his whisky. He lowered his voice. "The stories tell of…"

"Don't do the mysterious voice, Mulder, just tell me why are we here? Little green men?"

"Well, it might be. I don't know, to be honest. I just thought we needed a break. And these stories tell of a trio of children who are ever searching for a substance called firwhiskee!"

"What are we doing here?"

"Research. I thought it might be some sort of whisky and this is a bar that sells whisky! Hence they might visit."

"This is the tenth bar we've visited!"

"Well, I don't know which one they will turn up in…"

"I'm just going to the ladies, I'll be back in a minute," said Scully and she walked off.

There was a popping sound and three children materialised in the middle of the bar.

"Back of the net," said the red haired one and did a little shuffle that to his whisky soaked mind was a dance of the highest order. Ron jived over to the bar and said. "Barkeep! A bottle of your finest fire whisky!"

"I am not a barkeep."

"Bar steward?"

"Nope."

Ron peered over the bar and looked at his name label. "Kevin. Old chap. Old fruit. Possibly the finest practtionerr… pracsxtixion… barman in the world. A bottle of fire whisky please."

"Excuse me sir," said Mulder.

Ron raised a finger. "Do you sell fire whisky?"

"No but I have some questions to ask…"

"Kevin, hurry up with the whisky, old chap." Hermione came running over to him.

"I've got it sorted out, I know how to get back to…"

"Hermione, Hermione," said Ron, turning around. "Have I ever told you how the light reflects off your hair divinely and makes you look like the goddess of the moon?"

Hermione primped herself a bit. "Well, no, you haven't actually."

"Well, I'm not likely to if you keep interrupting me!" Ron turned back to the bar. "Kevin, I'm getting thirsty here."

"You could answer so many questions," said Mulder. "Who is really running everything? Is this all part of a giant government conspiracy?"

"Sorry, you're too young," said Kevin the barman.

Ron looked back at Mulder thoughtfully. "Get me a fire whisky and I will answer everything."

Mulder turned to Kevin the barman and said. "Give him a whisky. In fact damn it! Give him the bottle! This is what I've been looking for all my life! He will answer the unanswerable questions!"

"We're off, bye!" said Hermione. There was a popping sound as the three disappeared. There was a strange strangled cry from Ron as his fingers nearly but not quite got hold of the bottle of whisky.

Scully came walking back into the bar. "Well, Mulder, what were you telling me about those three children?"

"They were here! Why do you never see anything weird! What is with it with you!"

* * *

"I thought you'd said you'd fixed this thing?" said Ron, looking about him. 

"Well, I thought I had."

"Does this look like Hogwarts?"

"Well, not exactly…"

"Does this look anything like Hogwarts?"

"Well, it's a building and it has windows."

"Correction, it is lots of buildings with thousands of windows and we are standing on top of one of them."

"Also one more major problem," said Ron.

"What? What!" said Hermione.

"There is not a bar in sight! Or a pub. Or an offlicence. Or a beer off or a 7-11, a tindalls, an alldays. Sod it at this moment I would take a bottle of spinach wine."

"Where are we?" asked Harry.

"I don't know and I don't care," said Hermione, looking at the screen.

"What's that strange crashing sound? Almost like giant metal arms walking."

Ron started whimpering.

"What is it, Ron?" asked Hermione. "We are on top of a huge building! There is no-one else up here."

"Who's that, then?"

"Good afternoon," said the man with eight metal arms grafted into his spine. "Are you friends of the web crawler?

"Like the suit," said Ron. "Must be great for opening bottles of beer? Or even fire whisky. You don't have a bottle with you, do you?"

"I am Doctor Octopus and I will kill you for your insolence!" With a creaking sound one of his metal arms made to swat them off the building.

"Well, if that's the case we get a last request then?"

"Well, I suppose so," said Doctor Octopus rather worriedly. Normally when people met him they ran off or started shooting. Requesting drinks was not normally part of the deal.

"I'll have a fire whisky." He looked over at Harry who put a thumb up. "Make that two. And Hermione?"

"Just a coke please, and could I have a packet of peanuts please? I'm starving." She was ignoring Doctor Octopus and concentrating on the time phone.

"You want a drink?"

"Hell! I'm a generous guy, have one yourself as well," said Ron expansively.

"Thank you!" said Doctor Octopus. "Since I got these arms grafted to me no-one has treated me like a normal human being. No-one has shown me any kindness. No-one has ever offered me…"

"Chivvy along then," said Ron. He looked at his watch, but since it was telling Hogwarts time, God knew for how long it hadn't been exactly accurate. It did make Doctor Octopus slightly nervous though.

"Oh, sorry. I'll just be off then. Two fire whiskies then?"

"Yep. And one coke and a pack of peanuts. Actually, I'll have some peanuts as well please."

Repeating the order to himself, Doc Ock crashed down the building to the nearest bar. In a curious quirk of fate, because of this meeting Doctor Octopus got a job as a very successful cocktail waiter and eventually owned a large chain of Octopus bars. Spiderman, now woefully unemployed on the superhero front and finding that middle-aged spread had a dire effect on his tight costume, got a job as a window cleaner.

"I'm sure I have it sorted now," said Hermione. "Come on, let's go."

"We've got to wait for Doctor tin opener, or whatever he said he was called…" There was a flash of light and they disappeared again…


	6. Pirates, Terminators and Agent Smith

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. Other characters are owned by their authors. With special thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and thanks for all the reviews!

**Chapter Six - The time turner, Harry Potter and the fire whisky**

"Where are we now?" Ron groaned, holding his head. "And more to the point. where is the fire whisky?"

"Don't you think about anything else?" said Hermione.

"I'm not just a shallow fire whisky swilling bloke."

"You _are_ shallow," said Hermione. "What else do you think about then?"

"Well, I'm thirsty. See, that's one. I'd like some fire whisky. That's two." He furrowed his brow. This is not a farming term. "I might need a bit of time to think about this one."

"I don't want to spread any panic or alarm," said Harry. "But could you hold your psychological profile for later?"

"This is as good a time as any. I'm trying to wean him off fire whisky and start him thinking about some other topics, like how do we get home!"

"Excuse me, gentlemen and ladies," said the rather dapper looking pirate, who swept a bow at seeing Hermione. "I couldn't help but notice that you three have just appeared in this bar in Tortuga."

Hermione picked up a glass of rum and turned to Jack. "Tortuga? Where's Tortuga?"

"Tortuga is a beautiful town in the Caribbean."

Hermione looked about her. "We're in a pirate town?"

"Pirate is such a harsh word, my dear. I prefer to soften it with rum."

"Who are you?" She looked down at the glass. To be honest, it did not look that appetising, but several flies and a water boatman seemed to like it. One little insect was even diving in from the edge of the glass. Oh well, what was the worst that could happen? She drank it down.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, my lady, and did I hear your companion talk of fire whisky?"

"Yes! Yes! I did!" said Ron eagerly.

"We have none of that here, young sir, but I might recommend the rum."

"Rum?" asked Ron. "Is that a type of whisky?" Ron was possessed of many things, fine red hair, a single-track mind, but sadly not a great knowledge of alcohol.

The rum was coursing through Hermione's system. It wiped out her knowledge of Shakespeare, destroyed all the plot lines of Dallas (that didn't take long) and in a final flurry brought about an aching loneliness at the heart of her soul that most single people fill with computer games and long distance runs.

Jack Sparrow pointed both fingers at him. "Nearly, sir. Nearly. Might I recommend the Caribbean rum? He pointed at Hermione. "It'll put hairs on even your bountiful chest."

Hermione went, "Eeeeep!"

"You're a fine lady, aren't you madam?"

Ron was starting to look a little put out at the pirate paying attention to her.

"Well, yes I am, actually," she agreed. The rum was setting off strange, hitherto unknown thoughts in her brain. Little point in denying the obvious, she thought, and there was something rather dashing about him. She wasn't too sure if he would dash off with her purse or her heart but whatever suited her.

"Are you looking for a handsome pirate to sweep you off your feet and lead you to rum, adventure and kissing in the waves of a tropical beach?"

"No she's not," said Ron, starting to get jealous, besides which they'd stopped talking about whisky.

"Well, yes I am, actually," said Hermione, starting to get a rather wistful look on her face.

"But we've got to go and stop Foldytrousers!" said Ron. "You said so yourself!"

"Well, we can wait a few hours, days, weeks, a lifetime," she said while dreamily looking at Captain Jack.

"Well said, madam, well said." He leaned over to kiss her…

Ron picked up the time turner, grabbed Hermione and Harry and pressed the button.

They appeared again in a house in suburbia. It appeared to be empty.

"You utter, utter git!" said Hermione. "For the first time in a long, long time I find a nice handsome man and you…"

"He didn't have any fire whisky. We had to go!" said Ron, going as red as his hair. "Besides which he's not me. You're so selfish; you know that? Always thinking about other people when you should be thinking about me!"

"Where are we now?" asked Harry, annoyed at being kept out of the conversation.

"Dunno," said Ron. "Some house somewhere. It seems to be empty. See if there is a - what is that muggle contraption for keeping drinks cold?"

"Iceland?" said Harry.

"Fridge," said Hermione, looking at the time turner intently and trying to hide her anger. If Ron wanted fire whisky, she wanted a decent man.

"That's the word," said Ron.

The front door bell rang.

"I'll get it," said Hermione.

"Hermione, this is not our house, not our time and more importantly we have no fire whisky."

"What's the worst that can happen?" she said and opened the door.

What she saw was a vision of masculine excellence. Muscles seemed to ripple up and down his torso. He was wearing black leather trousers, a jacket, and his eyes were hidden behind sun glasses.

"Sarah Connor?" asked the man, who was so huge he seemed to eclipse the sun.

"Might be," said Hermione coquettishly. "Who wants to know?" She was not that good at flirting. Years of associating with Harry and Ron, and reading more books than the British Library, meant her flirting skills were on a par with a wet lettuce.

"Are you Sarah Connor?"

"Well, you're a fine looking man. I bet you've read all of Tolstoy's War and Peace." She rubbed a finger seductively down the spine of a TV guide she found. "Tell me, are you a fan of Charles Dickens?"

"Answer the question…" The man pulled out an Uzi nine-millimetre gun.

Hermione waggled her eyebrows. "Or what, big boy? For you I'll be anyone you want…"

"You're terminated…"

Ron slammed the door in the Terminator's face. There was a banging sound and what sounded like a bullet bouncing off a metal chin. "We've found some great looking stuff, Hermione!" He was waving some bottles of Jack Daniels whisky. "It's not quite the fire whisky, but at least it is whisky!"

The door was wrenched off its hinges as the Terminator kicked it down. "Sarah Connor?" he asked again.

"Chill, big man, chill!" said Ron, and gave the Terminator a bottle of whisky.

"Are you Sarah Connor?"

"Do I look like a Sarah Connor?" said Ron. He barely came up to the Terminator's chest. Ron could hide behind a lamppost; the Terminator would have trouble hiding behind a tank. "You're lucky you caught me in a good mood, otherwise I'd hit you." He poured some whisky in a glass he found and gave it to the Terminator.

"What is this?"

"Whisky, mate. Whisky."

"This is illogical."

"No, it's whisky. You drink it…" He started speaking slowly and he drank his glass just to show the Terminator.

It copied him and drank down the whisky. Terminators are many things. Cybernetic killing machines, useful if you don't have a can opener, great for opening jam jar lids and probably a dead cert in an arm wrestling championship. However, the designers of them did not design them with whisky in mind. In fact they didn't design them with any drink in mind.

The whisky poured into his circuits and started fusing old chips and creating whole new pathways and thought processes. "This neighbourhood looks terrible," he said, looking out the door. "Someone should do something about it. I'm going to go into politics." He blundered off out into the street to start putting up "Vote for me!" signs.

"Come back!" shouted Hermione. "I can change!"

"The git!" said Ron. "He's taken my bottle of whisky with him!"

"Come on," said Harry, "time to get out of here."

They next appeared outside an old hotel. Several police cruisers, their lights still flashing, were parked up outside. A team of police officers was just running into it. A black sedan car with tinted windows screeched to a halt next to the police chief.

"Jeez," said the police chief to himself. "Feds."

Two men in black sunglasses and black suits got out.

"Lieutenant, you were given specific orders."

"Don't give me that juris-dick-tion crap."

"The orders were there for your own protection."

"I think my men can handle one little girl. I sent two units, they are bringing her down now."

"No lieutenant, your men are already dead."

"Err, excuse me," said Ron, tapping agent Smith on the shoulder. "I can see you are very busy at the moment."

Agent Smith turned to them. "You are not agents of the system."

"No, we are thirsty." Ron pointed at the other two. Hermione gave a little wave. "We are looking for fire whisky."

Brown turned to Smith. "We've got to catch Trinity, Smith."

"Hold your horses mate, hold your horses," said Ron. "Fire whisky."

"Hello," said Hermione, looking at Smith. "I love the sunglasses and that suit is nice and tight."

"Ignore her," said Ron. "We want fire whisky."

Smith pulled his lips back in the semblance of a smile. "Are you a trick of the system or are you from Zion?"

"You've tricked away my heart," said Hermione.

"Shut up!" said Ron. "Ignore her; it's me she really loves. What do we have to do get fire whisky?"

"I am an agent of the system. I can create whatever you want."

"Yes!"

"All I want in return is Trinity and Morpheus."

"If I tell you where they are, will you get us some fire whisky?"

"But you don't know where…" said Harry, pulling at Ron's sleeve. "Oh I see!" he said, light finally dawning on his alcohol-addled brain. He put up his thumb to Smith. "We'll tell you mate, we'll tell you."

"Wait here," he said. "I must go and find fire whisky."

In seconds Smith had contacted his Command Central Unit (CCU) to request a bottle of fire whisky. That got confused and sent a message saying simply "Fire whisky?" Smith said, "Yes, fire whisky." The Command Central Unit sent an urgent request to its Direct Processing Unit (DPU). This also had no idea what the Command Central Unit was talking about so it asked the CCU and it said it had no idea. The Direct Processing Unit sent a message up the chain and it dissipated instructions out to all the thousands of agents of the system. Soon the agents of the system were all on a one-track quest to locate fire whisky.

The main Central Computer in charge of creating the entire system soon heard what was going on and it sent out messages to all the robot squids that were currently searching for Zion to change its search to fire whisky.

"We're waiting!" said Ron, tapping his watch.

Hermione was looking at the time turner in bewilderment. "Why does this thing never work as it is meant to?"

All over the Matrix, people were being unplugged from the system as the system realised it could not cope with looking after the people and trying to find fire whisky. Mankind was freed from its technological slavery and the machines shut down as they discovered the one thing they could not find. To help find it they cleaned the skies, removed the centuries of pollution and helped mankind to a golden age of peace, prosperity, and in twenty years time when they eventually found a source, a never ending supply of fire whisky.

However Harry, Ron and Hermione did not realise they had just inadvertently saved the world since they had gone again…

Authors note – If you want Ron, Harry and Hermione to visit any particular time or character then let me know and I'll see what I can do, otherwise they will probably have to sort out Voldemort at the school again! Thanks for all the reviews so far!


	7. Simpsons and Van Helsing

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. Other characters are owned by their authors. With special thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and thanks for all the reviews so far!

**Chapter Seven - The time turner, Harry Potter and the fire whisky**

"Give me that!" said Harry to Hermione as he grabbed the time turner. "You don't know how use this."

"And you do?" said Hermione as she looked around. "Does something about this place look wrong to you?"

"What, the fact the place looks like a drawing?" said Ron, looking at the house they were in. He jumped back in shock as he saw Hermione. "You're yellow!"

A brush-headed boy came walking in. "Hey man, what are you doing in our house?"

"We're lost, who are you?"

"I'm Bart Simpson, who the hell are you?"

"I'm Ron." He walked over to Bart. "Why've you got four fingers?"

Bart backed away. "Why've you got five? And what's with the haircut? You look like a freak!"

"We're slightly lost. What's that smell?"

A large fat bald man came walking in. "Bart, I told you to tidy your room. Oh great, burglars." He took a sip of the can of lager he was drinking from and sat down on the settee. "Take what you like but leave the sofa and TV."

Hermione walked up to the man. "We're not burglars, Mr…"

"Simpson…" He tried to push her to one side. "You're in the way of the TV! Look, an ad for Duff beer!" Two gorgeous girls on the TV were saying how drinking Duff beer gave them a figure like theirs. "They got that right!" said Homer, looking with pride at his stomach. Not that he had much choice since it pretty much dominated his view.

Ron sat down next to Homer. "You haven't any fire whisky, have you?"

"You burglars still here?" said Homer. He whispered to Ron. "You should take the Saxamophone upstairs from Lisa's room."

"Have you tried Moe's?" asked Bart.

"Do you think he would sell fire whisky?" asked Ron.

"No idea, I'm just trying to get you off the sofa."

Old thought processes started to whir through Homer's brain. Guests should be looked after. "Errr, have a Duff beer." He handed a can to Ron.

Ron started reading it. "This beer has been linked to all neurological conditions A-F and G-W and any conditions beginning with Z. If you find prolonged use of this beer makes you blind and unable to use your arms or have any symptoms not mentioned here please write us a letter with your symptoms so we can add it to the list…" He scanned down the long list. "Blah, blah linked to kidney failure, blah blah, good for cleaning coins and the following stains… blah blah, not to be taken internally." Ron shrugged at this, opened the can, and drank it down. "Not bad," he said and picked up another can to put in his pocket.

Hermione, still, sadly, with the effects of the rum coursing through her system, sat next to Homer and pushed Ron out of the way. "So Mr Simpson, is a sexy man like you single?" She gave him a playful nudge in the ribs with her hand. Or at least she tried to. It took her about twenty seconds to remove her hand from the layers of fat that enveloped her.

"Yep, single, that's me," said Homer.

"No you're not," said Bart. "What about Mom?"

"How many people are sitting here?" said Homer, pointing to himself.

"Weight wise, four people; intelligence wise, 0.043 and smell wise about 37 incontinent orang-utans."

Homer leapt off the settee. Or rather his legs did, his stomach was still trying to relax on the arm rest. "Why you little!"

"Waaah!" said Bart and ran out of the house.

Harry sat down on the settee with the time turner. "I think I've got this thing worked out. If I press this button now…"

The world swirled again and they disappeared.

They were in a bleak mountainscape. The wind howled forlornly about them as if it was sad to be in such a depressing place. In the distance was a castle. This was no fairy tale castle with bright white towers and red pennants catching the breeze. If the castle was a man it would have several badly spelt tattoos, a shaved head and a rottweiler on the end of a chain with the name of Fang.

Several bats were fluttering about them. With a strange gloop sound one of them landed and took the shape of a handsome aristocratic man with a good sense of dress but a bad sense of the correct length of teeth.

"Good evening," hissed the vampire.

"Evening yourself, squire," said Ron. "Would you mind keeping quiet, we're trying to work out how this thing works."

Hermione turned round to see who it was. "Ooh, hello. What's a man like you doing in a place like this?"

He turned towards her slowly. "I was looking for a bite to eat, care to join me?"

She looked at him coquettishly (not that she could spell coquettishly with the amount of rum in her system, in fact she was looking at him like a mouldy cauliflower but it was a start!) "You're certainly a fine looking man, aren't you?"

Dracula looked at her worriedly. She was looking at him like he was a cauliflower for some reason. "You are a fine looking woman." He brushed her hair back from her neck. "Your neck looks wonderful. I could just eat you up." Hermione nearly swooned at this.

There was someone pulling at his cloak. "Excuse me, mate." Dracula turned around. "Yes you, tooth boy, I need a can opener." Ron got the spare can of Duff beer he had taken from the Simpsons' house and used Dracula's tooth to lever open the can. "Cheers, mate!" The can of beer started sloshing out and some of it landed on Dracula.

There was a hissing sound as the beer ate through the vampire. In seconds there was nothing there but a pile of ash.

Ron looked at the beer label again. "Also good against vampires." He shrugged and drank it down.

"What have you done!" screamed Hermione. "We were getting on very well!"

A man on a white horse came riding up to them. He was wearing a dark cloak and an old wide-brimmed hat. On his back were several weapons including a pump action crossbow. His belt was lined with silver stakes and guns. A friar was following him on a smaller pony. They stopped when they saw Ron, Harry and Hermione.

In one swift movement Van Helsing pulled his crossbow from behind his back. "What manner of creatures are you?"

"We're school children."

"I will send you back to the pits of…" Van Helsing stopped at this. "School children? You're not vampires?"

"Nope."

"Werewolves?"

"Nope."

"Some sort of weird creature made from lots of dead bodies?"

"Nope."

Van Helsing started thinking. His companion in his quest against evil, Friar Carl, piped up. "I love guessing games! Dragons? Are you Dragons?"

"Nope."

"Give me a clue!" said Carl.

"The clue is in the words SCHOOL CHILDREN!"

"What, evil school children?"

"Nope."

"You haven't been possessed by some strange other-worldly demon?"

"Nope."

"What's the name of that creature, the one who walks like this…?" Carl put his hands out in front of him, got off the horse and started lumbering about making strange noises.

"Teachers?" tried Hermione pensively.

"No! It begins with L, I'm sure." He thought for a moment. "Zombies! That's it, zombies!"

"Nope," said Ron, shaking his head. "We're losing the plot line here. We're after fire whisky." Ron moved his arms slowly in front of him to accentuate each word. "FIRE WHISKY!"

"Leprechauns!" said Van Helsing brightly. "Are you leprechauns?"

"No! We want fire whisky!" shouted Ron.

"A loud voice!" said Carl excitedly. "I bet you're a banshee!"

"FIRE WHISKY! FIRE WHISKY!"

"Got it!" said Van Helsing, patting at his pockets. "You're a fire demon. I've got just the thing for that here." He started getting out various herbs and bottles from his pockets. "Here it is!" he said, pulling out a small bottle. "A bottle of fire whisky!" He looked around himself, rather mystified. "Oh, they've gone. I've been carrying this bottle of fire whisky around for years, never been able to get rid of it. Oh well, might as well try a sip of it." Van Helsing slugged it back and nearly fell off his horse. "Woah! This is the best drink in history!" He got slightly cross eyed and nearly fell off his horse again.

This started his own mission to find more fire whisky. After many misadventures where he climbed Everest, went to the North Pole, and even ended up on the moon (something he has never been able to explain properly) he ended up at the castle of Hogwarts in Scotland where he became their first teacher in Defence Against the Dark Arts and started a tradition that is carried on to this day, of drinking fire whisky in the Hogwarts Staff Room. This explains why Snape always looks pale and hung over and is always in a bad mood.

The good thing about stopping Van Helsing's mission this early on was it allowed evil to proliferate through the world and thus gave writers in the 20th and 21st centuries something interesting to write about. If it wasn't for this, all the books would be called something like "Mr Smith and his hunt for a perfect Daffodil" and "Bravo Two Zero – The true story of a crack squad of gardeners trapped behind enemy lines of weeds and their heroic struggle against dandelions." So we should be thanking them really!

Authors note – Thanks for all the reviews and comments so far and thanks to Sennica01 for these ideas! All reviews and suggestions of where they should go next are gratefully received!


	8. Star Trek, giant monkeys and chocolate

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. Other characters are owned by their authors. With special thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and thanks for all the reviews! Also a special thanks to Sennica01, Emma and Cmar for your ideas and reviews! Hope you all enjoy the story!

**Chapter Eight - The time turner, Harry Potter and the Fire Whisky**

"Captain's Blog Stardate 456.4045.6," said the shaven headed Captain of the Enterprise to his computer. "We have been given a mission to transport badly needed scented toilet paper to Deep Deep Space 32. This was after a despatch of contaminated curries." He paused and pondered a moment. "Private thought, computer. I don't know if I am getting paranoid, but why does the Admiral keep sending me farther and farther away for more and more ridiculous reasons? I mean, it is not my fault that I have been the reason for at least four alien invasions of earth. I didn't start them. They seem to be sending me away a lot now." He thought for a bit more. "Actually this might have started when I suggested that all admirals smell and couldn't make a decision if their pensions depended on it." Mental note, don't drink at any more Starfleet functions.

A chirruping sound came from his communicator. "Riker to Picard. We are detecting a time/space anomaly on the bridge."

"Picard to Riker, on my way."

He pressed his communicator. "Picard to engineering, beam me directly to the bridge."

He disappeared in a cloud of particles and reappeared…

He blushed and tried to avert his eyes. "I must apologise, ladies." Various women tried to grab their towels in the sauna. There were various cries of "Pervert!" around him.

"Captain Picard! What are you doing here!" said a naked Deanna Troi.

"I'm sure I said bridge, I'm sure I said bridge!" He pressed the communicator again. "Picard to Engineering, beam me directly to the BRIDGE!"

"Yes sir…" There was a pause. "Aren't you on the bridge?"

"NO!" There was still a mild screaming in the background, but on the plus side he had been downgraded from pervert to peeping tom. "I am NOT on the bridge!"

"Well, we have you down as being on the bridge here…" There was a chuckling sound from the other side. "I tell a lie! I tell a lie! You're in the women's sauna. There's a funny story about that. I was just calibrating the…"

"Just beam me out of here!"

"Right you are, sir."

Picard opened one eye nervously. He was in the bar of the enterprise. "I'm in the bar now."

"Are you?" came a surprised voice. "Oh, we have that set as default so we can grab a quick drink on our breaks. While you're there, could you order me a…"

"Just get me to the BRIDGE!"

"No need to shout! You get more done by being…"

"NOW!"

"Who got out of the starship on the wrong side today?"

"NOW!"

He disappeared again and re-appeared on the bridge. Riker turned to him. "You took your time, sir…" He looked at him thoughtfully. "Why have you got a pink towel on one shoulder and you're carrying a drink?"

Picard dropped them irritably. "What seems to be the problem, Number One?"

"They are, sir." He pointed at three children who had invaded the bridge. The girl was sidling up to Riker and saying how she had always liked men with beards. The boy with the glasses was concentrating on a small gadget he had in his hand and the red haired boy was busy looking around.

"Baldy," said Ron slowly, speaking in the voice he reserved for foreigners and the mentally unstable. "I am looking for fire whisky."

"Are you aliens?" asked Picard. "What is the meaning for this invasion?"

"Invasion?" said Ron, pointing to himself. "There are only three of us. Surely an invasion involves more than just three people."

"Attack, then."

"Have we hit anyone?"

"Visit, then."

"We are looking for fire whisky."

"Is that a planet?"

"What?" said Ron, shocked at his ignorance. "No! It is a drink!"

"Well, we have got a device that can replicate any drink that is asked of it…" Picard swept one hand to show a replicator in the wall next to the turbo lift. "If you tell the computer what you want, it can replicate it for you."

Ron looked at Picard with adoration in his eyes. "You have quite possibly saved my life." He trotted over to the device. Riker was trying to fend off Hermione who was comparing his beard to an ant ridden mossy embankment in a vain attempt at a rhyme. Unfortunately the only other word she could think of that rhymed with mossy was drossy. He was not impressed by the rhyme. Judging by their looks the rest of the crew were though, especially when she accidentally pressed the intercom button and the entire ship heard her words.

"Your beard is like a bank of mossy."

"Even though you smell like a drossy."

"Your clothes are red like an apple rotten."

"Your eyes like a fish make me completely smotten!" she whispered drunkenly to Riker. "I know smotten isnt' a word but what else rhymes with rotten?"

Ron clapped his hands together and spoke clearly to the computer. "A glass of fire whisky please?"

"Fire whisky?" asked the computer.

"Yes, fire whisky."

"We have no fire whisky in the database."

Ron looked confused. "I don't want it in the database, I want it here!"

"Please specify ingredients."

"Specify ingredients…" He shook his head. "What type of computer are you? Fancy not knowing the ingredients."

"Please specify ingredients."

"Well, obviously whisky…"

"Scottish, American or Irish?"

"Scottish."

"Malt whisky, grain whisky, blended whisky?"

"This is just words! Fire whisky! Fire whisky!"

"You want fire and whisky?"

"YES!" He looked over at Picard, who was quietly requesting a security team, and shook his head. "Are all computers this dumb in your time?"

There was a small beep sound and a glass of whisky appeared. "Aaah!" Ron sighed with pleasure and put his hand out.

"FOOM!" The whisky erupted with flames and bits of flame exploded out of the replicator and started small fires all over the bridge.

"Computer!" said Riker. "Put out these fires."

"Unable to perform request. Currently searching all known planetary databases for fire whisky."

"Stop that search! Put out these fires!"

"Will put out fires on completion of search."

The flames started to lick higher about the bridge. Members of the bridge team started to shuffle towards the turbo lift.

"We'd love to stay and chat," said Ron. "Sadly, we've got to be going!"

They all disappeared in a haze of special effects.

"Right," said Harry, looking up at the others. "I'm pretty sure I have the calculations sorted out now on this gadget." He pointed at the little screen on the improved time turner. "You see, if I press these buttons then the screen says we are at Hogwarts again!"

He looked about himself. Ron spoke up. "I don't think this is Hottywarts, mate."

"What gives it away?"

"Three things actually," said Ron, pointing around. "First of all, that huge wooden gate, don't get that in Hogwarts."

"Well, possibly…"

"Secondly, that crowd of natives with the spears talking about sacrificing us…" He listened for a few seconds and breathed a sigh of relief. "That's all right then."

"What? They aren't going to sacrifice us?" said Hermione happily.

"Not us," said Ron.

"Thank God," said Hermione.

"Only you," said Ron. Hermione was dragged off screaming.

"And thirdly?" said Harry, still looking at the time turner.

"That huge monkey over there." Ron pointed upwards. There was a huge roaring sound and a giant ape lumbered over the wooden wall.

Hermione had been chained up at the top of a wooden platform. She screamed when she saw the ape.

"Stop screaming, Hermione!" said Ron. "You'll only encourage it!"

"Play dead!" said Harry to Hermione.

"No, don't play dead," said Ron. "Impress it with your knowledge."

"Errrmm," said Hermione. "The square root of 32,123 is … Eeeermm. Anybody got a calculator?"

"Kick it!" said Ron. "They respect violence!"

Hermione, although chained up, kicked King Kong on the questing hand that was coming towards her. Strangely the kick did not seem to impress the ape and only made him roar with rage.

"Remember they are more scared of you than you are of them!" said Harry. Hermione was grabbed by the ape and it started lumbering off. "Actually, is that beards?"

"No, bears."

"Where's a bear?"

"No, bears are more scared of you than you are of them…" He thought for a moment. "I think. Hermione can sort this out." He looked about to ask her and saw her being dragged off by the ape. "Hermione! Stop arsing about and get back here!"

"Help!"

"You can't take that back with you!" said Ron. "Where would we keep it?"

"Save me!" She had grabbed hold of a tree. The ape tried to jiggle her loose, making her screams very wavery.

"We can't hang around here all day waiting for you to make friends with every stray animal you find!"

"HELP ME!" She let go of the tree and grabbed hold of the wooden wall and clung on for dear life. King Kong tried to drag her back with him.

"Leave that poor creature alone and come back here!"

"HELP!"

"Let go of the monkey!"

"HE'S GOT HOLD OF ME NOT THE OTHER WAY ROUND!"

There was a roaring sound as King Kong tried to drag her back. "Come on Ron, we can't wait for her to stop making acquaintances with every hairball she finds," said Harry. He ran up to the platform and grabbed hold of Hermione's hand, pressed a button and they all three disappeared.

"Thank God," said Hermione. She grabbed the time turner from Harry and slapped him. "You are an idiot!"

There was a man standing next to them. He had a purple top hat and a small black beard. His eyes were twinkling with a slightly mad intelligence. "Who are you?"

"We're us," said Ron unhelpfully. "Who are you?"

"I'm Willy Wonka, the owner of the most marvellous, wonderful, fantastic, extraordinary, unbelievable chocolate factory in the whole world!" The little man clapped his hands as he said this, nearly making his top hat fall off his head. "Are you winners of the golden ticket?"

"Eeermm, yes," said Ron slowly, whilst tapping his head in the universal sign of stupidity. "Winners, that's us… Do we win fire whisky?"

The little man clapped his hands together and did a little jig. "You win a trip to the most scrumptious, mouth watering, delectable, edible, wonderful, amazing…"

"Cut to the chase here, son," said Ron. "Do you make fire whisky here?" He looked about. His nose was assailed by the wonderful smell of melted chocolate.

"Try this," said Willy Wonka, handing Ron a packet of chocolate. On the multicoloured cover was emblazoned, "Wizzo Wonka's Triple Scrumptious Delight – with extra whipped cream!"

Ron looked at the ingredients and tutted. "This doesn't look good for you; I'm thinking of my waistline here," he said, reading the ingredients. "Is there really a vitamin Wonka?"

"It makes your toe nails grow!"

"Does it have fire whisky in it?"

"What's fire whisky?" asked Willy Wonka. "Is it a type of chocolate?"

"The innocence of adulthood," said Ron smugly as he put his arm around the little man's shoulders. "What do people love more than all things?"

"Chocolate?"

"No!" said Ron.

"Well, actually he has a point," said Hermione, nibbling a bit of the chocolate bar. "It really is rather…"

"You're wrong! You're wrong!" said Ron, trying to hush Hermione.

"This is the best chocolate in…" said Hermione dreamily.

"Shut up!" said Ron. "What we really need is fire whisky! Do you have fire whisky?"

Willy Wonka looked, confused, at Ron and pointed around. "This is a chocolate factory."

"So?"

"We make chocolate."

"Chocolate?"

"Yes."

"Not fire whisky?"

"No. What is fire whisky?"

"Don't you start," said Ron, shaking his head. "Does no-one know how to make fire whisky?"

"No."

"It's an alcee, alo, alocoh, alcoholic drink."

Willy Wonka was immediately curious. "Do you think that would appeal to kids?"

"Alcohol and chocolate in one place?" Said Ron surprised. "They would all be wanting to visit your factory."

This started off a new chain of alcoholic chocolate. "Willy Wonka's triple vodka nutty bar delight." Which went down well with kids. In fact so well weekends had to be made to three days so everyone could have a hangover in peace. This had a by product of reducing the school to four days. In the short term this meant everyone was poorly educated and it meant people were happier because they knew less about things to worry them. In the long term this was even better because Cassidy O'Neill, who because of his education was destined to invent the Berrilium Light Converter as a means of unlimited power (which had the sad by product of needing the mass of earth to continue running) instead got addicted to alcoholic chocolate and found a lovely girl that he wrote long and tortuous rhymes to instead of inventing something that would drain away the earth.

However Ron, Harry and Hermione would not know this as they had disappeared again…


	9. Black Adder, Dirty Harry and the HHGTTG

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. Other characters are owned by their authors. With special thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and thanks for all the reviews! Also a special thanks to Sennica01, Emma and Cmar for your ideas and reviews! Hope you all enjoy the story!

**Chapter Nine - Harry Potter, The Time Turner and the Fire Whisky**

The year is 1562. In a house in Drury Lane lives a man of a great and noble line. Well, he's not exactly part of a great line but he is noble. Well, sort of noble. He is called a Lord but that is only because his great grandfather stole the title from a man who had been poisoned by Baldrick's cooking.

This particular Lord Blackadder had a short black beard, even shorter patience and a short and remarkably smelly servant by the name of Baldrick. In fact the greatest scientists of the day were always talking to Blackadder about studying Baldrick as the missing link between amoeba and ape. However they would have to wait a few hundred years for some proper nose plugs to be invented first.

Lord Edmund Blackadder read the manuscript again. It still did not make any sense.

"Balders!" he cried. And to be honest he really was thinking of crying. How come a man who came from a great line of noble schemers got lumbered with a cretin like Baldrick? In fact calling Baldrick a cretin was an insult to cretins the world over. There were amoeba living in privies who had more brains than he did.

Baldrick came walking in. He was dragging a turnip behind him on the end of a piece of string. Don't ask. Don't ask, he muttered to himself. "Balders, what is the meaning of this piece of paper?"

"You use it to wipe your…"

"No, no Balders. This paper." He waved it in front of him. Not just to show Baldrick the paper but also to try and waft the smell away. "The one you delivered to me this morning. Where did it come from?"

"I found it."

"You found it?"

"Yeah."

Blackadder's voice was cherubic and wheedling. "Where did you find it?"

"Somewhere."

"Answer quickly or I'll get you a job as official dung taster of London Zoo."

Baldrick perks up. "A promotion!"

"Baldrick."

"Yes."

"I can't be bothered to stand up. Hit yourself on the head with that table."

"Yes Milord." There was a banging sound and a cry of pain. In a slightly feeble voice he said. "Is that better, milord?"

"Perfect. Now perhaps you could explain where this order for five bottles of firewhisky came from?" Baldrick was about to speak. "Now think about your answer, Balders, unless you would like me to scoop your brains out with a spoon and use your head as a door stop."

Baldrick thought deeply about this. "Somebody gave the paper to me."

"At last. We're getting somewhere. Who gave it to you, Balders?" He made to speak. "Remember the spoon." He waved a spoon at him.

"These people appeared in front of me in the kitchen. One of them tried to explain what they wanted but I didn't understand so I made him write it down."

"Baldrick. There are extinct species of pigeons in the Galapagos islands who have a better grasp of literacy than you."

"I know, but he seemed insistent."

"Where are these people?"

There was a knocking at the door. "Enter," said Blackadder.

A tall red haired boy poked his head around the door and then walked in. He was followed by a dark haired boy with glasses and a girl who was struggling with a strange gadget in her hand.

"Ooh! Hello!" she said when she saw him. "I love men with beards!"

"I've got a beard!" piped up Baldrick.

"That's not a beard, balders, that's mould," said Blackadder. "So my dear, what can I help you with?"

"We want to get back to Hogwarts," said Harry.

"We want a bottle of firewhisky," said Ron.

"I need a man!" said Hermione.

"Hogwarts? Is that a pig farm? I'm not surprised you got confused if you met Balders. As to firewhisky, I don't know what you mean? If you need a man then…"

A rather thin foppish man entered with a large hat. "Hello Edmund. You didn't tell me you had company." He gave a long bow. "I'm Lord Percy Percy, heir to the Duchy of Northumberland."

"Why've you got two first names?" asked Ron. "Are you a barman?" he asked hopefully.

"Calling Percy a man is stretching the word to bursting point, but he should be barred from anywhere he goes. Lord Percy Percy is like a bad nose, difficult to shake off, and smells." He turned to Hermione. "Did you say you were looking for a man?"

"Why yes," she looked at him dreamily.

"Well my dear, if…" he looked over at Baldrick. "Balders, what are you doing with that?"

"The lady brought it with her, my lord." Baldrick was hitting the Time Turner with a turnip.

Hermione looked worriedly at Baldrick. "Don't press any of those buttons! Give that to me!" With one last swipe Baldrick hit the Time Turner. They all three disappeared into the ether again…

"Well, that was strange," said Hermione. "He did look nice though," she said dreamily.

"What, the small one who looked like a walking spot?"

"No, the nice one wearing black with the goatee beard." She sighed to herself. Oh well, best find out where we are now.

"Can I give you some coffee, hun?" They were in a coffee bar, apparently in America.

Hermione grinned at her. "Sure, thanks!" She looked around cautiously. This place seemed pretty normal. There were several couples having coffee, a few loners drinking it down as well, and a small group of men with large bags just walking in. Wearing masks. They were wearing masks.

Oh well, it is probably a local pageant or something. Some sort of strange local custom. And they were carrying sticks with them as well. Metal sticks with holes in one end of them. Hermione tried to think. She had seen those things in Muggle studies, she was sure.

One of the men fired a shot into the ceiling and said, "Everybody on the floor and give me your money!"

"How can we do that?" asked Ron.

"What? Just do it before I start plugging you full of holes."

"Well, we can either give you our money or go on the floor. We can't do both."

At one of the tables a grizzled looking man slowly stood up and drew a Colt Magnum. One of the robbers turned around and was just about to shoot him when the man gunned him down. With breathtaking speed he had gunned down two of the other robbers and the waitress as well. Although to be fair to the man, though, she had been slow bringing him his coffee.

The last man's hand started twitching towards his gun. "I know what you're thinking, punk. Have I fired five bullets or six? You see, in all this excitement I've kinda forgotten myself. So you gotta ask yourself the question, punk. Do I feel lucky?" The robber started sweating. "Well, do ya? Punk?"

"I can tell you're busy here, so I'll make this quick," said Ron. "I'm looking for firewhisky?"

"Get outa the way, boy," growled the man.

"Who are you, anyway?"

"Detective "Dirty" Harry Callahan," he said, not taking his eyes off the last robber, "and that punk is one nostril hair away from a body bag."

"You're very tall, aren't you?" said Hermione, sidling up to Callahan.

"Excuse me," said the remaining robber. "This is a tense moment here, could you please go away!"

Callahan clicked back the hammer on the gun. "I'm gonna count to five, punk. One… Two…"

"Excuse me boy," said the robber to Ron. "You couldn't see how many bullets he has left, could you?"

"Sure thing, mask boy," said Ron. He waltzed next to Callahan.

"Three…"

"What do bullets look like?"

"They are small metal dealies. They'll be in the back of the gun."

"Four…"

"No, nothing like that here!" said Ron, looking in the back of the gun.

"Eat lead, Callahan!" The man drew his gun and pointed it at Callahan.

BANG!

Callahan gunned him down. Ron looked again at the gun and started chuckling. "I tell a lie. I tell a lie. I can see some bullets in his gun. I was looking at the wrong thing. You see it confused me when you…" Ron looked over at the robber who had been sent flying through the window by the shot. "He's gone! I was just talking to him and he's gone."

Hermione pressed a button and they all disappeared again.

"The Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy has this to say on the subject of firewhisky. Firewhisky is a strange liquid made from fermented sheep created by the magical race of beings that inhabit the third planet from the sun on the Western Spiral arm of the galaxy.

It is a rare substance. In fact in all of the cosmos it has only been recreated once by the Splattergonian Fartlebus creatures of Fontonian 5. And that was only when they were after a new form of propulsion to take them to Fontonian 6 and explain their theories of Quantro to them. For those of you don't know what Quantro is, it is exactly the same as Frxnklnlkljfdsa but easier to say.

Firewhisky is also what one of the three beings of supernatural quality request everytime they are seen…"

Arthur Dent pressed the "Stop" button on the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and slid the rather battered cover back over it. On the cover was some very useful advice: "Don't Panic!" It was advice that had held him in good stead over numerous worlds, several minor wars and that time he had a spate of flying over planets.

However this advice did not help him here…

"So you are supernatural beings, are you?" said Arthur. He was currently dressed in a rather worn out dressing gown and was holding a chipped mug. He and Ford Prefect, whilst searching for the mysterious party creatures of Enmko, had found this rather dilapidated space ship that had been orbiting and monitoring the Earth for the past 30,000 years. It seemed to be owned by a ring tone company that was artificially accelerating the Earth's civilisation and reducing its collective IQ points so they could sell the "Crazy Frog!" ring tone. Sadly Arthur and Ford had worked out that it had in fact worked…

At the moment he was looking for a drinks dispenser on the old ship that actually sold tea. Because he had been in a similar situation before, he had actually brought a computer slug that contained the entire history of tea on Earth together with its DNA, taste, milk content, temperature and best time for it to be left brewing. Feeling rather pleased with himself, he had inserted the computer slug into the drinks machine and requested a cup of tea…

He was just about to drink the liquid when three people appeared in front of him.

"Like the dressing gown," said Hermione. "It's very, very…" She struggled to say nice, but the thought of saying such a lie made her head throb, "gown-like."

"Who are you?"

"Firewhisky," said Ron.

"That's a strange name," said Arthur.

"Firewhisky," he repeated.

It was that that had launched the search for Firewhisky on the guide. It hadn't helped much. But to be honest it rarely did, however it did give him time to think.

"Why don't you try this drinks dispenser out," said Arthur, pointing to the drinks dispenser. "It is a Sirius Cybernetics Healthy Drinks Dispenser. It works out what the healthiest drink is your species should have…"

"And then it gives it to you?" queried Hermione. "I've been meaning to have a healthier drink."

"Judging by the skeletons about the place I wouldn't recommend it, unless you are ring tone sales executives?"

A man with a rather hoopy (for hoopy see frood) jacket came walking through the door. "You know, Arthur, I think…" He stopped talking when he saw Ron. Now the universe would never know what he was thinking, but to be fair Ford Prefect rarely knew what he was thinking either. In fact normally his mouth would change any words his brain sent down to either, "I need a drink of Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster," or "I need another drink of O'Janx Spirit." However, Ford found that talking got in the way of drinking normally, so he tried to do as little of if that he possibly could.

Ron walked up to the drinks machine and said. "Firewhisky."

"Please state your order."

"I just did."

"Ijustdid drink turning up, sir, have a nice day!" the drinks machine chirruped.

A strange liquid that glooped turned up from the drinks machine. Ron picked it up at arms length and threw it behind him. It glooped onto a skeleton and in seconds turned the skeleton into a fully formed Ring Tone Executive. The executives weren't dead but were just dehydrated, the latest way to survive thousands of years in deep sleep. They were waiting for the civilisation to reach a point where they would need their services. Above Ron's head was written the words – "Just add water".

"Firewhisky," repeated Ron.

"Hi sir," grinned the executive. "You look like you need a ring tone."

Ron turned to him. "Firewhisky."

More and more ring tone executives popped into existence around the ship. Hermione grabbed Ron and Harry and they all disappeared. Sadly this caused the creation of at least a thousand annoying ring tones. But on the plus side… Yes, on the plus side… Eerrrmm I'll have to get back to you on that one… Fortunately for Harry, Ron and Hermione they didn't suffer any of this because they had just gone again…


	10. James Bond

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. Other characters are owned by their authors. With special thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and thanks for all the reviews! With special thanks for reviews from Cmar, Emma, Sennica and anyone else who has kindly reviewed me! All reviews/ideas welcome!

**Chapter Ten - Harry Potter, The Time Turner and the Fire Whisky**

The casino was full of the smells of cigarettes, whisky and smoke. The strange half-light in the casino gave the players the sort of look reserved for a black and white montage.

Bond put his hand in his pocket and looked at the bit of paper again. It was a receipt for $30 worth of chips. He also had another receipt for the bed and breakfast round the corner. They had had a memo round the office last week about "reckless expenditure of the expenses account." Now they were expected to have a receipt for everything they spent and not to stay at a hotel that cost more than $100 a night. That ruled out most of the hotels in Monaco. He would normally stay at the Hotel Monaco in the presidential suite. Now he was staying at the Hotelo Paridiso in the broom cupboard and he had to fight the cockroaches for his bed each night.

"Can I get you a drink, sir?" asked the waiter.

"Vodka martini, shaken…" He shuddered as he thought. "Make it a lemonade. Half a lemonade. Hold the ice. Not the expensive lemonade either." They weren't allowed alcohol on active duty now. "And give me a receipt for it as well." He was given twenty dollars a day "entertainment allowance," which of course he had to claim back from the government. He would rather be trapped in Russia surrounded by hundreds of soldiers whose mother's hygiene he had inadvertently insulted than face the expenses department again. To be honest the last time that happened it wasn't exactly his fault. I mean, he could speak six languages and everyone makes a mistake every now and then. It wasn't his fault the word for surrender and…

"James, you came," purred the sexy looking woman. She was Allia Clovesoff and she was the stunningly beautiful fiancée of Philip Tranter the nutty billionaire he was following.

"Just like you last night, Allia. Several times as I recall."

She giggled. "Philip Tranter is over there. I'm sure he knows about us." She took his hand. "Be careful James. I couldn't bear to lose you…"

"Allia, my dear." James took her hand and looked deeply into her auburn eyes. "Could I borrow a twenty? I'll pay you back? The expenses cheque is in the post. You know how it is?"

She looked fairly flustered at this but handed James a note from a small diamond encrusted purse. "Tranter is planning something, I know. He moved the light focussing device from…"

"I was wondering if you could let me borrow a fifty as well, it's just I'll need breakfast in the morning."

"Sure, sure," she said urgently. "He calls it Project Phoenix; he says the world will be reborn in a storm of fire in six…"

"If you could sign this bit of paper for me, please," said Bond, waving a bit of paper in front of her.

She signed it whilst still talking urgently. "He will destroy Switzerland first as a foretaste…" She suddenly thought for a moment. "What did I sign there?"

"If I borrow money on active service I have to declare it on my tax form."

FOOP!

With a strange sound, like someone bouncing an elephant off the Eiffel tower, three children appeared in front of James Bond they appeared rather moth eaten and battered and had the peculiar look of intensity that all drunk people got after a time. A strange green smoke surrounded them and for a short time the air was full of the smell of fried banjos (a side effect of the time turner).

"I'd better go," said Allia, giving the children the sort of look she normally reserved for insurance salesmen.

"Great we're in another bar!" Ron walked up to Bond. "I'm looking for Firewhisky mate."

"Try the bar," said Bond pointing. The tall red haired boy walked unsteadily over to the bar. Ron stood on a huge man's toe. The man, who must have had some bears in his ancestry, drew a gun. In a dazzling display, which Bond couldn't quite see how he did it; Ron had changed the gun for an empty bottle of Fire Whisky.

When he last saw Ron he was waving a gun at the barman and getting some remarkably quick service. Bond turned back. He had to concentrate on the mission. He walked to the roulette table where Tranter was. Bond started playing roulette. Like a miniature of life itself, the beautiful women were gathering around the winners and ignoring the losers.

James Bond was naturally good-looking and always lucky with gambling. He had dark hair and a small scar on his cheek. In front of him was a rapidly increasing pile of chips and behind him were two gorgeous women.

The man at the other side of the table had an eye patch and a huge scar down his cheek. "So, Mr Bond, you play for high stakes."

Bond gave a rare smile and lit a cigar. "You care to up the wager, Mr Tranter?"

"One hundred thousand dollars."

Bond shook his head. "No, you tell me what the Phoenix Project is, and one hundred thousand dollars." There was a muttering around the table and the man with the eye patch went pale.

"How do you get that name? Okay," he said, his face hardening. "Okay, but if you lose, Mr Fando," he pointed at a huge man standing behind him, "will take your head and I will turn it into a vase. One of those nice artistic ones with the floral arrangement in an embossed motif. I was thinking of painting it pink and putting it by that lovely clock I got in Florida. To be honest I need it to hide the horrible snow dome Blofeld gave me for Christmas. I would get rid of it but Erny likes to pop in at strange times and he would go loopy if I just threw it out. You know, once I didn't put sugar in his tea and he tried to destroy Ceylon simply because that is where the tea came from. It was lucky for them he couldn't find it on the map and he accidentally fried part of Australia instead. They didn't notice, they just got their barbies out instead. It was very embarrassing. Blofeld demanded that the Australian Prime Minister pay him one hundred billion dollars to stop, and he just asked Blofeld to turn up the heat as their chicken wings were nearly done. Anyway, I digress, is it a deal?"

Bond didn't twitch at all at these stakes. "Agreed." He lit his cigar and calmly exhaled.

"Ooh, this looks fun!" said Harry, looking at the table. "What are these little plastic chip things?"

"Put those down!" said Tranter.

"What happened to your face, mate? It's horrible!" said Harry to Tranter. Ron was busy talking to the barman about fire whisky, he had already sold the gun to buy a bottle of normal whisky.

"Budge up! Budge up!" said Hermione to Bond. She pushed Bond to the edge of his seat. "You are a nice looking one, aren't you?"

Bond tried to ignore this interruption. "One hundred thousand on red. If I win…" He let the words trail off.

Tranter chuckled. "Mr Bond, this is my casino…" He moved his pile of chips onto the table. "One hundred thousand on black."

"This is exciting, isn't it!" said Hermione. "You are rather good looking, you know. You put me in a mind of an older version of Oliver Twist." Unfortunately her being well-read did not put Hermione in a good position in the flirting game. She smouldered. "With possibly a dash of Fagin." She carried on smouldering.

She looked down in shock at where the smoke was coming from. It was her sleeve! Bond's cigar had accidentally caught the hem of her cloak. "Aaaah!" she squealed and poured Bond's lemonade over the flames.

"What have you done!" shouted Bond. "Do you know how difficult it is to claim for drinks, being a spy?" The room went silent and several dozen sinister looking men brought various guns and knives into view. "I mean a spyrochracter," said Bond, thinking quickly. "I look after backs. I do massages. Anyone want a massage?" Several dozen women and four gay men put up their hands. "Just leave me your names, I'll get back to you." He sat back down at the table and leapt up when he realised someone was already sitting there.

"Excuse me, mate," said Ron, who was sitting there. "You're talking to Hermione. She's my girl!"

"No! No I'm not!" said Hermione, shaking her head. "I'm my own girl! I'm not his girl! I can be your girl if you like?" She waggled her eyebrows at him. This had the unfortunate effect of making her face look like it was under attack by some dancing caterpillars.

"I am trying to gamble for the future of civilisation, would you please go away!"

"I'll go with you anytime," said Hermione, running a finger seductively up Bond's jacket. The effect was rather spoiled when she caught her finger on the pin holding his carnation in and spent thirty seconds hopping up and down and swearing.

"Are all bets in?" said the dealer on the roulette table. "Right, I'm spinning the wheel."

Tranter looked closely at the wheel as the ball started bouncing around as it started slowing down.

Ron picked it up from the wheel. "What's this for then, mate?" he asked Bond.

There was a collective gasp of shock around him. "Put that back!" he hissed.

"Okay mate." He threw it back into the roulette wheel and it landed in black.

Tranter chuckled. "You owe me a hundred thousand dollars and your head, Mr Bond. The world will perish in a rain of fire!"

"Sure, sure," said Bond calmly. "I've got $50,000 dollars here and my car is worth $50,000, is that alright?"

Tranter was grinning with victory. "Excellent!"

Bond got out a form. "This form is just for tax purposes and to sign over the car. If you could just sign here…" He pointed at one section. "And here. Here as well, if you want the optional salt corrosion paint. Here for the two years warranty. And here for the cuddly toy. No? It is a purple teddy bear? Part of the Fluffy Cuddly Happy Animal collection? Yes? Wise choice. Thanks, and here, saying you've read the guarantee. Thanks. And just sign here saying you intend to take over the world. Right, thanks. There is a small multiple choice here. Are you trying to take over the world with a nuclear weapon? No. Good. A new line of supermarkets? No. Good. To be honest I think that Walmart has that part of the world pretty much sewn up. A big death ray laser? Yes! Good! Whereabouts is it? In space, right. If you could just put in the details. Good. Good. If you could just write in the stop code and the radio frequency to disable it here. Thanks. If you could just put your signature to this confession. I appreciate that, thanks. Excellent. If you could just mention what other crimes you've done or any other world domination plans. You invented the TV programs Big Brother and Stars in Their Eyes? You sick puppy! What, Simon Cowell is one of your evil agents! I hope they throw away the key! If you could put your fingers on this ink pad and put them on this paper. Good, now we have your fingerprints.

"We'll take a front picture." There was a flash as Bond took his picture. "Thanks, now a side profile. Try and look mean. Thank you." There was another flash and Bond put the camera down. "We'll take a dab of blood for DNA. This might hurt a bit?" There was an ouch sound. "Sorry about that. And now if you could put your hands into this pair of handcuffs and accompany this police officer to the station." A police officer had appeared by Bond and arrested Tranter and his henchman. "Thank you very much, you've been a wonderful villain, you really have."

Hermione, Ron and Harry hadn't seen this because they had disappeared again…


	11. DiscWorld

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course accept for the ones owned by Terry Pratchett. Other characters are owned by their authors. With special thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and thanks for all the reviews! With special thanks for reviews from Cmar, Emma, Sennica and Machiavelli Jr and anyone else who has kindly reviewed me and/or given me ideas! Thanks to Machiavelli for the idea for this one! All reviews/ideas welcome!

**Chapter Eleven – Disc World**

If you were flying through space here you would see some strange sights. One world looks like a half empty coffee cup. The mould on the surface is the land; the sticky coffee is the ocean. This world would have been quite different if the creator had had two sugars and not just one.

The world we are interested in, however, rests on a vast disk on the back of four elephants that are themselves carried through space on the back of a giant turtle. The worlds in this part of space are practically impossible. But anything that is practically impossible is possible. And this is a world where the impossible happens every day, nine times out of ten.

We are now skimming past the huge eye of the turtle. She is looking for something in the distance (possibly food); when she last ate we don't know, but if she realises she has a huge doughnut on her back with lots of juicy creatures running around on it, they are in trouble. Her shell is covered in the frost of space and craters of asteroid strikes.

If we travel up past the elephants and over the disk we can see the central mountain of Cori Celeste. The gods are ignoring the strange light that is falling with us, and that is a good thing. Blind Io, the chief God, has just got out of the bath to answer the phone and is telling them that no, he doesn't need double glazing.

The spark of light contains some bickering children and they are heading towards a city on the biggest land in disk world. The city is called Ankh Morpork and the only reason we call it a city is there are no other words to describe the cesspool of creatures that inhabit it.

The spark of light lands with a strange popping sound in the part of the city known as the shades. The _Lonely Disk – Guide to Ankh Morpork_ describes the Shades as having "friendly locals always wanting a chat about monetary requirements." It also contains a list of local medical practitioners who can sew limbs back on.

"This place stinks," said Hermione when she got to her feet. There was an open sewer that meandered down the middle of the street. Judging by the smell around them the sewer was the cleanest part around them.

"Where are we?" said Harry. "London?" He sniffed a bit and took in the strange ancient buildings that overhung the streets. There was a strip of skyway above him, but the style of houses in this area meant the streets were constantly dark, giving it its name. Several menacing looking figures sauntered out of doorways towards the children. They were carrying numerous knives and clubs… They were about to give credit to the saying 'See Ankh Morpork and die'.

* * *

In another, less well planned world, where logically people should be gathered at the top to stop falling off and hanging on for dear life to stop being spun into space, a man is sitting at a desk in the tallest tower in Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. He has snake eyes (no he is not gambling) and a pale complexion. Snape is just talking to him.

"So, my Lord, I was thinking we need to introduce more beatings into the Hogwarts schedule."

Voldemort was looking at the timetable whilst drinking a black coffee. He put down the coffee and looked at the timetable. "We've already got four sessions of beatings, one of unpleasantness and two of name calling on Monday. It would mean we would have to lose a session of me going round and laughing at students for no apparent reason."

"It is a shame to lose that, as I think it is important to prepare our students for modern life."

Voldemort nodded at this and sipped his coffee. He spat it out in disgust. It had changed to prune juice. He looked at it curiously. As he watched the drink, it changed to coffee, to tea, and back to prune juice. For a brief second it had something with fire pairs of arms and three eyes swimming in it. He looked up at Snape. Snape's hairstyle changed as he watched it and his fashion sense changed from merely bad to appalling; for a few painful seconds once he was wearing a small pink tutu. This nearly made Voldemort gouge out his own eyes with a tea spoon. Snape did not seem to notice anything wrong though.

He furrowed his forehead and tried to stop thinking of evil thoughts for a few seconds. He was not just a magical being; he was a being that history itself wrapped around. In a sense he was one of only a few people that existed outside time, so he could see the subtle changes made if people interfere with time.

Someone was interfering with time.

And not just in a subtle way.

He could see the decorations in his office change from bats, to werewolves, for a heart-stopping moment to pink bunny rabbits with red bow ties, and back to the sickly lime green he always preferred.

Someone had got hold of the fragile timelines and was doing the metaphorical equivalent of dropping a mountain range on it.

He waved a pale hand over a crystal ball he had placed on his desk and a few magical sparks appeared to join him to it.

"Show me," he said. There in the middle of the crystal ball were Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. He had no idea where they were but he knew where they weren't. In the right time and place.

If this carried on, his whole existence could be threatened. He said some complex sigils that formed strange and threatening shapes about him and disappeared from the office in Hogwarts in search of Harry, Ron and Hermione…

* * *

It was said that only wizards or those who had just died could see Death. This was not entirely true, cats could also see Death. To be fair everyone could see him, but only wizards and cats were trained to see what was just outside reality. (The Cat University of Ankh Morpork also trains cats on how to spot people who are allergic to them and home in on them, also to leave dead mice under settees when relatives are visiting and get stuck up trees or under cupboards just when you are heading off to work.)

A tall skeleton with a cloak as black as night was standing next to the children; he was eating candyfloss. He had one timer in his skeletal hand where the sand was practically all finished.

"Who are you, mate?" said Ron suspiciously. He was also looking at the armed gang surrounding him. Part of him was hoping they were a bunch of travelling fire whisky salesmen. To be fair he had never seen travelling fire whisky salesmen, so they might all be horribly scarred and viciously beweaponed.

DON'T MIND ME, intoned Death, whilst just finishing off his candyfloss, his voice not reaching their ears in the normal fashion, just appearing ready formed in their pickled brains. IT'S MY ONE EVENING OFF A MONTH, BUT NO, I'M A WIZARD, I'M IN MORTAL PERIL, I DEMAND PERSONAL SERVICE!

"Who is he?" asked Hermione, pulling on Ron's cloak.

"Skull," said Ron, looking at him. "Reaping instrument. White horse behind him with a saddle full of the souls of the recently departed…" He took his chin in one hand and started thinking. "A travelling knife grinder?" Somebody tapped him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me sir," said the man with the jagged knife. "I couldn't help but notice that you were new in the area. My friends and I are in the Thieves Guild. Could you hand us your money, sir? We are also doing a special on murder. Three murders for the price of one. I'll give you a voucher to give to a friend." He chuckled a bit at this. "Well, obviously you won't give it to a friend. We'll just leave it on your body."

"Shut up a moment, I'm trying to work out who this bloke is," said Ron, waving at Death.

The thug looked curiously at where Death was; he could not see him, being mortal. "Is this some kind of trick? Just give us your money!"

"What do we get out of it?" said Ron, giving the thieves his full attention. "A bottle of fire whisky?"

EXCUSE ME, ARE YOU GOING TO BE LONG? asked Death. I WANTED A GO ON THE GHOST TRAIN BEFORE THEY CLOSE.

"We'll murder you and take your cash. Could you tell us how much you have, please? We have to claim it on our tax form. We aren't doing specials on fire whisky," said the thug, looking at a blood-stained form and scratching his chin with his knife while he thought. "You do get the satisfaction of helping the local artisans though."

"You're a thief, not an artisan!" said Ron. "I'm not giving you any money until I get some fire whisky!"

The temperature seemed to drop. "We are in the Thieves Guild! We are highly trained! We are not mere drink sellers!"

"And you smell," chimed in Hermione. For once the smell had passed by her amorous intentions.

"We are fully paid up trained thieves! You can't go around insulting our members!" There was a muttering of ballot and strike in the background.

Death pointedly rolled up his sleeve to look at his watch and tutted.

Harry was looking in his pocket for some money. "Okay, okay," he said. "Here are some galleons."

"You keep it, mate," said the lead thief. "We've been insulted! We're going on strike! From now on there will be no robbery or financially motivated murders until our members have respect on the streets!"

WHAT ABOUT ME, THEN? grumbled Death. I BET THEY WILL HAVE SOLD OUT OF TOFFEE APPLES BY NOW! I'VE STILL GOT AN ORDER FOR ONE WIZARD HERE! He looked down at the Wizard's egg timer in one hand. The sand in it was running very low. What was the name on it?

"Sorry mate, can't help you there," said Ron. "We've got to be going." With a strange glooping sound they all three disappeared.

Milliseconds later in an impressive cloud of green smoke Voldemort appeared.

He glared about himself and saw Death straight away.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE, said Death, waving the egg timer in one hand and pointing with his other skeletal hand at Voldemort. YOUR TIME IS UP!

'Bugger,' thought Voldemort. This was going to be a long day.


	12. Ghostbusters

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course accept for the ones owned by Terry Pratchett. Other characters are owned by their authors. With thanks to Cmar for beta reading this andspecial thanks for reviews from Cmar, Emma, Sennica and Machiavelli Jr and anyone else who has kindly reviewed me and/or given me ideas! Thanks to Machiavelli for the idea for this one! All reviews/ideas welcome!

**Chapter Twelve – Ghost Busters and Richard Sharpe and the Battle of Waterloo**

In an old fire station in central New York the phone rings…

"Ghostbusters, what dyawant?" the pretty but rather nasal secretary said. "Yeah. Yeah. Three ghosts. Whatever. We're doing a special on poltergeists; you get two poltergeists for the price of one."

She listened for a bit longer whilst carefully colouring in her nails. "Well, I dunno, are they throwing anything? Well, throw something at them to find out."

She moved the phone away from her ear a moment later as a scream sounded out. "They threw it back, did they? Please don't use that kind of language with me."

She got out a sheet of paper. "I got a few questions here first. Colour. Not green? One's red and spotty and the other has hair like a badly placed hedgerow. My God! They get weirder! Are they floating? No? What are they doing? Asking for fire whisky? Stay right there, madam, I'll get the boys for you…"

She jabbed a button on her desk and the bell rang…

Four men with large proton packs leapt down the firemen's pole towards their converted hearse. It was covered in more lights than Las Vegas and had a painted red circle on the side with a ghost trapped behind it.

Egon walked up to Annie Potts, the secretary. He was reflected in her huge glasses. "What have we got, Annie?"

"Three supernatural beings in an apartment block in Manhattan. Also the mayor rang again; he was wondering when he would be getting his secretary back?" Annie pointed at a very attractive young blonde woman who was sitting in reception reading a copy of Marie Claire. Or rather trying to. Dr Peter Venkman was getting in the way…

"Dr Venkman says she is possessed. He just needs another two days to complete his studies."

Peter Venkman was waving a strange machine with flashing lights in front of her. "Nope, nothing so far. The readings have to be coming from somewhere. Would you mind popping your clothes into this bag and we can continue this examination at my place with a bottle of wine and a pizza?"

"Venkman, we've got a FWC call with possible Alpha 3 paranormal activity."

Venkman's voice deepened as he stood up. "Sorry, my dear. My city needs me! I'll be back to depossess you later!" He trailed after Egon. "I nearly had an important scientific breakthrough there! What's an FWC call anyway?"

"Don't you read your memos?"

"I let the shredder read my memos. What does FWC mean?"

"Fairly Weird Call."

"I see… And Alpha 3?"

"Three ghosts. We just put the Alpha in to sound intelligent."

"Brilliant! Brilliant! We're a real classy piece of work!"

The converted hearse that was the Ghostmobile made its noisy and none too subtle way through the crowded streets of Manhattan.

Two minutes later they screeched to a halt outside a plush New York apartment block.

"GHOSTBUSTER'S COMING THROUGH!" shouted Venkman.

An attractive woman stood to one side as they passed. "Any ghosts, ma'am, be sure to ask for Venkman."

"I will, thank you."

"You'll be haunting my dreams tonight, ma'am." He carried on grinning at her as he passed. He turned to the others. "So what floor are we on, guys?"

"Third floor. Lock and load, gentlemen," said Egon. Their proton packs hummed as they powered up. "Let's send these ghosts back to the afterlife. Get a trap ready, Venkman."

A little old lady opened the door at the end of the corridor before they came in. "Thank goodness you are here! They just appeared out of nowhere! One of them is raiding my drinks cabinet!"

"Just stay out of the way, ma'am," said Venkman. "We'll deal with these guys."

"I've got my priceless collection of china in there! You won't damage it, will you?"

Venkman took hold of both her hands and looked at her sorrowfully. "Ma'am, I'm afraid we had to wreck your flat to get those ghosts."

She pulled her hands away nervously. "But, but, you haven't even been in there yet!"

"I know, but it saves time."

Egon unclipped a small device from his belt and pointed it at the door. "I am picking up high amounts of GNW."

Venkman looked confused. "I musta missed that memo. What's GNW?"

"God Knows What."

"Come on guys," said Venkman. "Let's just toast this beasty and get on home." He kicked the door down and pointed his particle accelerator down the hall. There was a cabinet. What was in it? It was filled with strange, almost demonic shapes. He lightly pressed the trigger and a tendril of energy blasted the lady's collection of china dolls into the next world. He winced when he saw the damage done. "Sorry, my fault."

"Hey, it's room service!" came a voice from the other room. Ron walked out, closely followed by Hermione and Harry. "Like the backpacks! What are they? Portable fire whisky distillation plants?" Ron had sadly found a dictionary in his search for fire whisky. He had also found a bottle of Jack Daniels which he was trying out.

"These are proton accelerator plants," said Egon. He walked up to Hermione and tapped her on the skull. "Is this form your physical presence on this plane of existence?"

"No, that's my hair," said Hermione, slightly put out.

"What is your name, demon?" asked Egon. "Tell us so we can write it on our ghost traps."

"Hermione," she said dreamily. "And what is _your_ name, so I can write it on my heart!"

Spengler waved an ESP detector in front of her. "Your form is curiously humanoid."

"Your form is curiously sexy," said Hermione.

Ron and Harry bundled Hermione out of the way. "Ignore her mate, we are looking for fire whisky."

"Is that the name of your Chief Demon?" asked Spengler. "Wait a second; I have downloaded the Necrotimoculum onto my palmtop." Spengler typed in a few words. "How many F's are in fire whisky?"

"One," said Ron helpfully. He looked over Spengler's shoulder at what he was typing. "Two i's and one y. No, not in that order. Give that to me a moment." Ron grabbed the palmtop computer from Spengler and typed in a few things. He pressed a few buttons. Looked at the screen intently. Typed in a few more things. Nodded his head intelligently. Then gave Spengler a look of intense concentration. "How does this thing work then? I'm looking for somewhere that sells fire whisky!"

Spengler grabbed it back. "Stop that! Where's that trap, Venkman?"

"Just getting it ready here." He pushed the little old lady's dining room table out of the way and threw down a small metal box on the floor, which had a trap door with criss-cross yellow lines on it. Strange sparks seemed to course over it.

Ron grabbed Hermione and Ron. "Come on guys, we'd better get out of here. There is nothing going on here."

"Wait! Don't go! We've got to catch a ghost or we don't get paid!" shouted Venkman. Hermione pressed a button and they winked out of existence.

"And they took most of the drinks cabinet with them!" groaned Venkman.

A Psychic Disturbance Meter that Spengler had attached to his belt started beeping wildly. "They're coming back! Get that trap ready! We're gonna get 'em this time!"

Outside the apartment building storm clouds boiled into view and a flash of lightning cracked into the apartment block. The sinister form of Voldemort appeared. He was looking over his shoulder. "Don't know how I talked myself out of that last one. If he finds that Lord Voldemort is an anagram of Tom Marvolo Riddle I'm in trouble! Could be worse; I could be called Leotard Mild Vroom and sound like a male stripper. Now where have those wretched kids gone? The trouble they have caused me!" He looked down at his feet to see a small metal box. In seconds he was surrounded by tendrils of energy as the Ghostbusters opened up on him. "Oh please, energy weapons. I just need to know if you've seen…" He looked down at his feet. "Oh bugger!" The trap opened up beneath his feet in a beam of light brighter than the sun and he disappeared…

The British and Allied army was stretched painfully thin across the valley near the strangely named village of Waterloo. Bonaparte was making his final attempt to break the lines. The French Imperial guard, every man of which was a veteran of a dozen battles, and all over six foot tall, were marching proudly across the battlefield ready to break the impudent army that stood before them. Every footstep they took was taking them over dead French and Allied soldiers who had died in the horrors of total battle, and all the other mangled detritus of war. With the field of death and destruction it was like Hell itself had come to Earth.

The British army could not hold. Not now. It was too battered and weakened by cannon fire and cavalry charge to stand. Only one frightened and huddled mass of infantry stood before the French and total victory over the allies. If they lost, it would doom Europe to the French way of life.

To be fair this probably wouldn't be too bad a thing. The French make a mean cup of coffee and their croissants are very tasty in the morning, and the French accent: nice! True they tend to over-spice a few things, and the less said about frogs' legs the better, and why do they eat snails? I mean most people who see a horrible slimy thing oozing over their vegetables don't immediately think lunch! It probably started out as an accident. "Waiter, waiter, there is a snail in my lunch!" "It is a delicacy, sir. We charge double for that." Anyway back to the story…

The battle was at a turning point. Only one man could stop them! Lieutenant-Colonel Richard Sharpe. He was darkly handsome, scarred and bloodied, the victor of a thousand fights and the loser of none. He drew his battered sword for possibly the last time in this war and turned to his men.

"VIVE L'EMPEROR!" The victory cry of thousands of French soldiers who had crushed a dozen empires and monarchies to dust beneath their feet reverberated around the tiny valley of death. Only Sharpe and his men could stop them now…

"Okay lads, the French think they've won! They want to walk on our sacred turf. We've got to teach them: if their names not on the list they're not coming in!"

Someone tugged at his sleeve. "Excuse me, are you going to be long?" asked Ron. "We've got a bottle of whisky from that last place we were at and we're wanting to have a picnic and a nap." Cannon fire ripped the air apart above them, making a noise like tearing sheets. "If you could just keep the noise down a bit, please?"

"What? Go away! I'm trying to make an inspiring speech!" He tried to ignore him and turned back to his men. "As an English army we…"

"Can you move to one side please, mate?"

"What? Why?"

"We need to sit down somewhere. Thanks. Just ignore us. Pretend we aren't here."

"Right. Right. Where was I?"

"Inspiring speech I think. As an English army we…"

"As an English army we, what?" asked Sharpe.

"Dunno, mate, it's your speech. Are you and your friends going to be long? I'd like to have a nap. It's been a long day and I'm getting a headache. All this shooting isn't helping!"

"We'll try and keep the battle noise down for you!" He turned back to his men. "As an English army we…"

"Actually I'm Irish, sir," said Patrick Harper, his huge sergeant. He hefted his seven-barrelled gun in one hand as easily as if it were a corn stalk.

"As an English and Irish army we…"

"I'm Welsh, boyo."

"I be Scots," growled another soldier.

"As a British army we…"

Ron screwed up his face as he thought. "Well, that's just the mainland; it doesn't count Ireland."

"As a United Kingdom army we…"

"We are technically united, I admit, but we Irish aren't particularly united to England," said the Irish Sergeant Harper. "We have had several revolutions against you lot, you know?"

"Okay, okay," said Sharpe. "Is everyone happy with Allied army?"

"Yes."

"No problem."

"Sounds fine."

"Oui, monsieur."

"Say again?" asked Sharpe suspiciously.

"Yes."

"No problem."

"Sounds fine."

"Oui, monsieur."

Sharpe looked suspiciously through the smoke of the battlefield. "I thought so! Who said that?"

"Me, monsieur." He was a small soldier, quite indistinguishable from the rabble that surrounded him but for one small but important difference. His uniform.

"You're French! What are you doing here? This is the English…" There was a round of coughing. "Sorry, Allied army!"

"To be honest, monsieur, I'm lost. All this smoke and noise and people about the place! I mean there are no signs anywhere. Can I join you lot?"

"What? No! This is an English, sorry, Allied army!"

"I'll be quiet; I won't make any noise."

"No! It's not right! I mean, we are fighting you lot!"

"Oh please, monsieur, I won't be any trouble!"

"Okay, okay. Just stay near the back." He turned towards the huge mass of French soldiers that was poised to defeat the English, I mean Allied, army. It just needed one final push… "Okay lads, fan out into a line. Load up and fix bayonets." There was someone tugging at his battered and bloodied sleeve.

"Excuse me mate," said Ron. "I can see you're very busy but have you got a bottle opener with you? This bottle we got from that flat we were last in you see?" He waved a bottle in front of Sharpe. "Needs a bottle opener. Are you busy?"

"Yes, I have to save Europe from the tyranny of Bonaparte, so yes, you could say I'm busy!"

Hermione walked to his other side. "I like the rugged look in my men."

"Do you? Do you?" said Sharpe. "What are you two doing here?"

"And me as well!" said Harry. "Listen mate, we're looking for a bar."

"This is a battlefield! The whole future of Europe is being decided in these few square miles!"

"Or a pub, I mean, we're not fussed."

"What time do you finish work?" asked Hermione, raising her eyebrows to Sharpe.

"VIVE L'EMPEROR!"

"We'll all be finished soon!" He pointed his sword at the horizon that was suddenly filled with thousands of French soldiers. "I have to stop them or Britain will bow down to Bonaparte!"

"Oh please," said Hermione. "Just like a man. You're over-dramatising the situation. Just relax and take a few deep breaths."

"These could be the last breaths I'll take, just get out of my way!"

"I like a man who's not afraid to show his feelings!"

"Just direct us to a pub, and we'll be out of your way," said Ron. "Or anywhere that sells fire whisky?"

"What are you talking about? FIRE WHISKY?"

The small mass of men that Sharpe commanded raised their muskets and fired! Too early. Much too early. The French were just out of range. Now the only thing that stood before the French and total mastery of the battlefield was a small beleaguered group of men with unloaded muskets whose commanding officer was talking about drinks to an inebriated bunch of wizards and witches.

"No! Don't fire! Reload! Reload!" He groaned. "We're too late! The war is lost!"

"Oops," said Ron guiltily, at last seeing what was about to befall Sharpe and his men. "Sorry about that, mate. We'd best be toddling. Good luck!" They all three disappeared in a flash of smoke.

The French saw that victory was theirs and ran towards Sharpe's men. They lined up surrounding them on all sides and raised their muskets. Just one order and Sharpe's command would be totally wiped out, and the French would win.

A tall French officer rode to the front of the imperial guard and mockingly raised his sword in the air. "Prepare to fire!" (Like in all good war films both sides speak English.)

There was a crackle of lightning from above and a mass of green smoke formed the sinister shape of Voldemort just in front of the British (sorry multi-cultural) army. "Right! Now where am I now?" He looked behind him and could see thousands of French soldiers pointing their muskets at him. "Now, before you say FIRE!" he started. The rest of his speech was rather interrupted by the sound of thousands of muskets firing at him. His magical shielding flared in a variety of colours as the musket balls that would have wiped out Sharpe's command, bounced off him. "I'm looking for three children about yay height?" he said, waving an arm about. He looked at the might of the French army all pointing their muskets at him. Sharpe's force was busy reloading and preparing to save the day. "You needn't bother pointing a musket at me; only a cannon could pierce my shields."

"What, like this one, monsieur?" asked the officer, pointing at some French cannons that came trundling over the horizon.

"Yes, exactly like that one… Bugger."


	13. Power Rangers Time Force

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course accept for the ones owned by Terry Pratchett. Other characters are owned by their authors. With thanks to Cmar for beta reading this andspecial thanks for reviews from Cmar, Emma, Sennica and Machiavelli Jr and anyone else who has kindly reviewed me and/or given me ideas! Thanks to Cmar for the idea for this one! All reviews/ideas welcome!

**Chapter Thirteen - Power Rangers - Time Force**

The city of Silver Hills is a fairly typical American city with some rather untypical guardians. A lot of cities in America find that they can save on tax dollars that they would have to pay for more police officers by having some unofficial protectors. All they have to do is cheer on these show-offs occasionally and give them a thumbs up to encourage them. It is generally cheaper than taxes going up. Normally these protectors wear tight, revealing clothes, and say a lot of phrases that have to end in an exclamation mark!

On this note, just going to the shops to get a pint of milk probably makes life interesting. "My god, a pint of milk!"

The hero shouts, "Look out, it's full fat!" as he throws himself across the heinous threat.

"That was close! A pint of that would go straight on the hips and I'd never fit into my tight revealing costume!"

Silver Hills is different in that a team of protectors look after it, the Power Rangers – Time Force.

This was a fairly typical day in Silver Hills. The evil mutant Ransik was trying to take over the place for no real reason other than that he was lost in time, stuck in Silver Hills, and couldn't get a proper job like stacking shelves in Walmart or putting the caps onto shampoo bottles.

Wes, the Red Ranger, was running down the streets of Silver Hills with Jen the Pink Ranger.

"Why do I have to wear pink?" asked Jen. "That is like so sexist!"

"It's just luck," said Wes. "It could quite easily have been me, it's just the way the uniforms came out of the laundry bag."

"You're such a liar! It's easy for you to say, you're the Red Ranger!" said Jen. "You're always the Red Ranger! I want to be the Red Ranger!"

"Can we discuss this later?" said Wes. Trip the Green Ranger and Katie the Yellow Ranger came running out of the arcade to join them.

Trip ran to catch up with them. "What's happening, people?"

"He won't let me be the Red Ranger!" said Jen.

"Ignore her, Ransik has taken over the shopping centre with a Cofferuptor mutant and is prepared to sell coffee at vastly reduced prices to undercut Starbucks and drive it out of business!"

They stopped running. "Is it me, or has Ransik started to run out of ideas?"

There was a squelching sound, not unlike a custard pie hitting a zebra at 200 mph, and up ahead three children winked into existence.

Ron clapped his hands together. "Right, where are we now? I haven't had a drink in ages; I am starting to get dangerously sober!"

"I'm with you, buddy," said Harry. "Let's hit some bars."

"You two calm down; we just need to work out where…" Her eyes fell on three young men dressed in tight spandex. Well, I say fell, but that really misses out on the whole lecherousness of her gaze. Possibly the word 'oozed' would be better since it ran over every curve very slowly. "Oooh! La! La! I'm in heaven!" Hermione tried to look sultry.

While it was true that she had read the book on being sultry she just hadn't understood it. A lot of women find it easy to look sultry. Looking at men with one eye, mouth half open, a slight smile playing on the lips, the kind of expression that is designed to hotwire the very soul of men and make them stop thinking of computer games and cars for several seconds. Hermione was, sadly, not most women. True, she was looking at them with one eye but that was only because she had covered one eye with a hand and was opening her mouth to drool.

The two girls, the Pink and Yellow Rangers, stunned even Ron and Harry, whose minds were not exactly one track, but one destination, and that had a bottle in it.

Ron swaggered up to Jen. "Hi gorgeous, like the suit. Tell me, sweet thing, do you know where I can get some fire whisky?"

Wes, the Red Ranger, straightened up in front of them and spoke in a deep commanding voice. "Are you some mutant trick of Ransik's?"

"Who's sick?" asked Harry. "Listen, Red Boy, tell me where we can get a drink or we'll be forced to get nasty."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Ron might very well just throw up on you," said Harry.

In the distance the shopping centre erupted in a shower of rubble as the Cofferuptor mutant, who had got bored of waiting for the Power Rangers, grew to a gigantic height and due to the extreme amounts of caffeine in his blood got in a bad mood and started looking for a Starbucks to stomp on.

Fortunately it found half a dozen in the high street. It was slowed down for a vital few seconds as it tried to work out if it wanted a latte, a mocha or a decaff. After several seconds of thinking, it decided it would just stomp on all of them.

Ron and Harry looked up at this huge mutant towering over the horizon and nodded sagely. "He looks in a bad mood."

"Probably wants some fire whisky," said Ron. "Say, you, Pinky," he said, clicking his fingers to Jen.

"Don't you snap your fingers at me! It's because I'm wearing pink, isn't it? It's because I'm wearing pink! Nobody ever snaps their fingers at Katie, the oh so perfect Yellow Ranger."

"Stop whinging a moment. We want fire whisky!"

"Whinging! Whinging! I'm a Pink Ranger! I don't whinge!" She thought a moment. "What's this fire whisky? Is it a new mutant created by Ransik?"

Harry looked puzzled. "It might turn you into a mutant. We don't know, we haven't had enough to work it out yet."

Wes walked up to Jen and Katie. "Girls, can we get it together? Silver Hills is being crushed by a rampaging coffee mutant!"

Jen crossed her arms. "Us get it together? We're not the ones hitting on that girl!" she said, pointing to Hermione who had grabbed hold of Jen's foot with both hands and was being dragged along the road as Jen tried to walk. She turned to Katie, the Yellow Ranger. "He thinks he can order me about because I'm wearing pink. It's because I'm wearing pink, isn't it? All men think they can just order me around like a little girl! Well I've had it with that; when I get home I'm changing uniforms and getting a new colour!"

"What to?" asked Ron, always interested when girls talk about removing their clothes even in such a vague way.

She shrugged. "Haven't really thought about it."

Harry smiled. "Just give us your clothes and we'll dye them for you!" He reached out a lecherous arm.

A thunderstorm formed rapidly above them and a stream of lightning hit the ground just under the huge Cofferuptor. Voldemort appeared. He brightened when he saw the kids and said, "Ah ha! Got you! Just stop right there." The huge shadow of a foot appeared above him. "Oh bugger!" he said just before he was squashed into the ground.

"Wasn't that do no poo? I mean you know who?" said Ron, pointing at the hole in the ground where various swearing noises were coming from.

Harry looked curiously at the hole. "I think we should get out of here." He looked over to Hermione who was expounding her theory of why Wes's Ranger suit, which was perfect in every detail, would just be nicer if it had some lapels, a tartan waistcoat and an orange kilt. There was a perfectly good explanation for this…

Well, a perfectly normal explanation at any rate. Hermione was blabbering because she had run out of things to say. Like a lot of people, when she talked to someone she really fancied, such romantic comments as "Your eyes are like blue sapphires plucked from the heavens by the Gods themselves" turn into phrases like "Nice ass!"

Ron grabbed her by the hand, pressed the button on the adapted Time Turner and disappeared with Harry.

* * *

History was starting to change quite drastically. At the moment the only people, apart from the Lord Voldemort, who had noticed, were History teachers. And to be fair, no-body paid them much attention.

They started off in the morning teaching children about the Third World War that started in the 1962 as a result of the Cuban Missile Crisis and wiped out most of the civilised world in one week, and then by the afternoon realised that not only had that war not happened but the world was now inundated with dodgy ring tones and even dodgier boy bands. It was hard to work out whether this was an improvement or not…


	14. Star Wars

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course except for the ones owned by George Lucas. Other characters are owned by their authors. With thanks to Cmar for beta reading this and special thanks for reviews from Cmar, Emma, Sennica and Machiavelli Jr and anyone else who has kindly reviewed me and/or given me ideas! Thanks to Machiavelli Jr for the idea for this one! All reviews/ideas welcome!

**Chapter Fourteen – Star Wars**

The huge reinforced window on the Death Star looked over at the death of the Rebel Alliance. The fleet had been trapped between the hammer of the Death Star and the anvil of the Imperial Fleet.

A rebel squad that had landed on the Endor moon to knock out the power had been all but captured. The Imperial Storm Troopers were fighting the last of the stubborn holdouts.

The alliance's ace up their sleeve, the last known Jedi, Luke Skywalker, had been led in chains from the planetoid's surface.

Luke looked up in fear as the Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader, stalked up to him. That this was his father did not ease the panic gripping his soul. He concentrated on the Force and stilled his heart. If he lived or died today, no matter, it would be the will of the Force.

Darth Vader, his cloak black as night, loomed over his son. "Where have you been?"

Luke shrugged. "Out."

"What time do you call this?"

"What time do you call it?" mimicked Luke.

"I've been worried about you."

"Oh, oh," said Luke, his voice getting higher pitched. "It's all right for you to go out and have a life and form an Empire but when I get involved in one itty bitty rebellion it's join us, join the dark side. You've never understood me!"

"I just want you to follow in your father's footsteps. There is a place here by my side…"

"Like I want to be in the same room as you. I hate you! You know my friends think you're weird?"

"You don't mean that?"

"What about my hand?" said Luke, waving his robotic hand in front of him. "I can't believe my own dad cut off my hand."

"It was an accident! I've said I'm sorry!" said Vader.

There was a strange squelching sound like a Bantha being hit by poodoo.

"All right, gents," said Ron, walked up to Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker. "Woah, this is a big window! What's happening out there? Some sort of fireworks display?"

"The death of the rebel alliance."

"Right, right," said Ron, his concentration waning at this non-alcohol related conversation. "Say, cloak boy, you wouldn't have any fire whisky about the place would you?"

Hermione edged up to Luke. "Hello handsome! Wow, you're tied up already, it saves time. Who are you two anyway?"

"I'm Luke," said Luke. "That's my Dad."

She rolled her eyes. "He's taking me to see his father already! He must be serious." She walked up to Darth Vader. "Hello, Mr…"

"Darth Vader," he hissed.

"Mr Darth Vader," she started formally. "Your son and I have been seeing each for several seconds now and I feel now is the time to…" She thought a moment. "Darth Vader? That's a weird name? Luke Vader? I'm not changing my name to Hermione Vader for anyone! You can take my name. Luke Grainger. Doesn't that have a lovely ring to it?"

"Actually, my name is Luke Skywalker."

"And he's your dad? Little tip buddy; if you are his son you have the same name as him. Are you sure you weren't adopted? I mean there is a slight height difference. He's seven foot tall and you're, well, shorter? Plus you've got lovely gorgeous blond hair and he has a baseball helmet on!"

"I was adopted! His name was Anakin, or Annie Skywalker before he changed."

She turned back to Vader. "To what?"

"A dark Lord of the Sith."

"Oh, a cult!" said Hermione, clutching her hands together happily. "My friend joined one of those! Now she wears an orange baseball cap and hangs around underground stations trying to brainwash people into eating lentils for the rest of their lives. Do you hand out books, Mr Vader? You look the type. It's the weird mask that does it. And what's with the breathing? Did you leave your inhaler behind? I get asthma as well."

"What? No! Obi Wan Kenobi left me for dead on a lava planet," said Darth Vader. "I'm a Sith Lord. Being a Sith Lord is a very important position. I rule the universe with the Emperor."

"Right, right, so does your son inherit it after you, you know?" She rolled her eyes a bit and mimed her hand falling down.

"I haven't written my will yet, but on current behaviour definitely not!"

Hermione walked slowly round him. "How's the heart then, Mr V?"

"Fine! Fine!"

"Boo!"

"Aaaah!" He clutched a metallic hand to his chest. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry, just checking…" said Hermione. "Do I get a dowry at all?"

Luke butted in. "Excuse me, I'm trying to save the universe here; my friends are on the Endor moon under attack by Imperial forces!"

Hermione patted him sympathetically on the arm. "You can do that after we get married."

"I want to do it now! I have to save my friends, kill the Emperor and convert my father from the dark side."

"Once we're married we can have your friends over for tea." She sidled up to Luke and whispered in his ear. "Not too sure about your dad though. I've been meaning to tell you this but he is a bit…" She thought a moment. "How can I say this without causing offence? A cross dresser? Used to be called Annie? Are you sure he's not your mum in disguise?"

"No, he's not! And I'm not getting married!"

"There is no 'i' in marriage," said Hermione. She thought a moment. "Well there is, but the point I'm trying to make is that it's 'we' now. Us together, against the world!" She thought again. "Well, the universe anyway."

Outside the Death Star black clouds formed, then a burst of lightning exploded through a port hole next to Hermione, Ron and Harry. A cloud of sinister black smoke twisted into the shape of Lord Voldemort.

He immediately crouched down and looked about himself. "Is anything about to attack me?" He looked up. "Nothing about to squash me?" He looked down. "Not about to be sucked into an alternative dimension?"

He looked about warily. "Ah! Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Grainger! You are to stop all your…" He looked over at Darth Vader and smiled. "Well, well, a fellow Dark Lord!" He walked up to him to shake him by the hand. "You know there aren't many of us left now?"

Darth Vader nodded. "I know, I know, I'm Darth Vader by the way. Call me Darth. There is always some hero somewhere wanting to chop off your head or something."

"Well, you two seem pretty busy," said Ron. "We'd best be off!"

"Goodbye, my love," said Hermione to Luke. "I will think of you always!" She thought a moment. "Well, until the next scene anyway!"

Luke breathed a sigh of relief as Hermione disappeared.

"Bugger, I've missed them again!" said Voldemort. "Oh well, I'll catch up with them soon. As you were saying, Darth, heroes think we grow on trees or something. I mean people think being all sinister and saying things like _'Kill them! Kill them all_!' in a suitably villainous tone is easy, but it isn't."

"I know, I know. Years of training go into it," said Vader. "Do you know I spent two years with a speech therapist after Kenobi nearly killed me?" Vader was really getting into this conversation and accentuating each comment with a wave of his finger. "Even now if I talk too long in a deep voice I get a sore throat."

"Have you tried Tunes?" asked Voldemort. "Or Strepsils? Muggles have a lot of sweets for sore throats."

"Thanks for the advice!" Vader looked Voldemort up and down. "Something I've been meaning to ask: how do you get your cloak to stay so black, menacing, _and_ supple? I mean the times I have had a go at the Imperial Washing Services, they just don't get the starch right. Last week they added so much I was practically flying, my cloak was sticking out like wings. My cloak got stuck in the lift door last night. When I turned round with a swish after meeting with Admiral Von Neeson I accidentally decapitated him. I had to ad lib on the fly I just said '_You won't get ahead with that report_' to his decapitated head."

Voldemort was looking at Vader seriously.

"You see the funny joke was that I said you won't get ahead and he was…"

Voldemort started shaking his head slowly.

"Well, you had to be there really…"

While this was going on Luke used the Force to summon his light sabre and with one sweep cut his bindings and then cut at Voldemort and Darth Vader. Darth Vader was sent spinning backwards; only his Force-guided reflexes summoned his light sabre to his hand in time to save his life.

There was a thump sound and Voldemort looked down at his hand. He had nice hands it has to be said. Long and artistic, great for playing the piano and creating those delicate little curses that needed all the subtle finger movements.

It is just he used to have two.

"You seem to have cut off my hand," said Voldemort, looking down at the floor. "Bugger."


	15. Sherlock Holmes and the Star of India

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. Other characters are owned by their respective authors. With thanks to Cmar for beta reading this and special thanks for reviews from Cmar, Emma, Sennica and Machiavelli Jr and anyone else who has kindly reviewed me and/or given me ideas! All reviews/ideas welcome!

**Chapter Fifteen- Sherlock Holmes and the Star of India**

The foggy streets of Victorian London were just starting to empty of the crowds. Or to translate into cockney rhyming slang: Lawd above! The foggy streets ov Victorian London were just startin' ter emp'y ov da crowds, innit.

If we go up the apples and pears (stairs) through the door of a posh London club called Browns that is holding a ball in honour of the "Star of India" diamond being on show there, dozens of elegant couples are dancing the Salsa, the latest dance sensation to hit old London town.

A rather curious couple were currently keeping an eye on Professor Moriarty, the Prince of Crime. It was the world's greatest detective in a clever disguise and his associate Dr Watson.

"I say, Holmes, do you really need to wiggle your posterior quite so much?"

"Stay in character, Watson!"

"Sorry Sherlock, I mean Sharon."

"That's it, spin me around here. Excellent. Place one hand on my back and lead me around. That's it, excellent…" Holmes, who was dressed in a rather fanciful ball gown, glared at Watson. "Hands not quite so low, Watson. Thank you."

"Can you see what he's doing, Sher… Sharon?"

"No, spin me round again." He went spinning off into middle of the room. "Not that much, Watson." He staggered back to Watson. "Let's try that again."

"Errrm, Sharon. I should be leading. I'm the man here."

"Course you are, course you are." He straightened up a bit. "I can't get the hang of these corsets."

"You look very fetching, dear."

"Shut up! Let's pirouette over there. Don't dance so close! We're not married."

"Stay in character, Sherlock."

"Just dance us over there. We need to find out what he's doing. He's talking to Bill 'diamond thief' Stover and Bernard 'I love diamonds' Truss." Holmes thought for a moment. "Wonder what he is planning to steal?"

Watson was silent for a few seconds and said diffidently. "You've probably thought of this, but the 'Star of India' _Diamond_ is on show here and Moriarty is talking to two cockney villains with _Diamond _in their names."

"Watson, Watson, Watson, leave the thinking to me. This requires a singular sort of mind." Holmes put a painted finger to his head and raised his eyebrows to nearly touch his blonde wig. "There is always a clue about…" His trained eyes took in everything from the "Star of India" diamond on display surrounded by the ten armed redcoats to Moriarty having finished his conversation with the two villains and wandering off. His eyes panned over the strange ropes set up over the diamond and Moriarty lowering himself down from the ceiling. His eyes even took in "diamond thief" Stover and "I love diamonds" Truss staging a loud argument by the guards to distract them while Moriarty lowered a small grappling hook from the ceiling to steal the diamond.

"They're going to steal the diamond!" said Watson.

Holmes looked at him pityingly. "That is too obvious for a villain of Moriarty's deviousness; what can his plan be?"

"To steal the diamond!" said Watson, pointing. "Look, he's stealing it now!"

"I can't concentrate with all this shouting!"

"We just need to stop him!"

Awright geeezzaa! Sound _nosey pike_ mud 'ittin' a _rub an' tug_ at da speed ov a 'orse an' carriage. Sorted mate. Terribly sorry, lapsed into the native tongue for a moment. Anyway Harry, Ron and Hermione appeared in the middle of the dance floor with a noise like mud hitting a horse and cart.

"We're at a dance!" He turned to one side. "This is something I've always wanted to say to you." He gave a solemn expression. "Will you do me the honour of this dance?"

"Ever since I met you I was wondering when you would ask me that," said Harry.

"Not you!" said Ron. "Hermione!"

"What's wrong with _me_?" asked Harry in the aggrieved tone of the drunk.

"It's because you're not a…" Ron thought for a moment and raised his eyebrows. "And don't have…" He raised his hands up to his chest. Hermione started glaring. He raised his hands to his head. "Hair."

"I've got hair!"

He spread his hands out. "Hair out there. Like a girl."

"Oh, because I'm not a girl."

"Yes," sighed Ron. "Sorry mate, fortunes of birth and all that."

"That's alright then," said Harry. "Where are we anyway?"

Ron looked up at the ceiling. The Redcoats had surrounded the two cockney villains and were just leading them away. In the gantry above them Professor Moriarty was just putting the huge diamond into a bag and he started swinging out of the building. At the bottom of the arc before he would have made his escape, Ron grabbed his foot.

"What are you doing?" cried Moriarty. "Let go!"

"What am I doing? What are _you_ doing!" said Ron. "Is that a bottle of fire whisky you have there?"

There was a crackle and a hiss of green smoke as the fearsome form of Voldemort appeared.

He was rubbing his arm. "Thank Satan for that, I've managed to glue my arm back on. Now where am I now?"

Watson took advantage of the distraction to put Moriarty into an arm lock and recover the diamond.

"Curse you, Holmes!" said Moriarty.

"Actually, it's just Watson."

"Where's Holmes then?"

"He had to go powder his nose."

Ron, Harry and Hermione took a step back at this. Even through their drink sozzled minds they recognised trouble when they saw it and this was trouble with a Capital T, or a Capital V at any rate.

"Is that Lord Voldepoo?" asked Harry. "What are you doing here?"

The air seemed to thicken and darken around Voldemort as anger took hold of him. "You children have been interfering with time and destroying causality! I have to return you from whence you came!"

"Whence?" said Harry. "Whence? Have you been reading Shakespeare? They stopped using that word when the Romans invaded; believe me we would know..."

"We've been trying to return," said Hermione. "We have honestly! But we keep getting lost!"

"Ridiculous, absolutely ludicrous," said Voldemort. "You will return forthwith to Hogwarts and justice."

Thick coils of greasy rope magically appeared around them and bound them up tight.

"You children are complete amateurs," said Voldemort. "I mean, how difficult can it be to get home?"

Voldemort said a few words of power that seemed to shape and curl around him like the magical equivalent of candy floss and they all disappeared in a glowing green mist.

The dark wizard looked around at where they had now appeared. "Oh, bugger…"


	16. The romance section

All characters owned by JK Rowling of course. Other characters are owned by their respective authors. With special thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and thanks for all the reviews!

**Chapter Sixteen- Harry Potter**

The sky was a strawberry pink as the sun blazed over the horizon like a melting heart. Hermione's thick dark hair hung in long graceful curves over her shoulders. Her temptingly curved mouth said, "Where the bloody hell are we?"

Voldemort, his face regal and proud, his dark hair falling over his shoulders like an Amazonian waterfall, looked at Hermione with soft azure eyes. "No idea." His eyes darted back and forth with a compelling unquenchable glint. "My eyes have a what?"

Ron, his muscles rippling under his white shirt, said. "Wow, I've got muscles! I always knew a lifetime's avoiding the gym would pay off eventually."

Hermione, her eyes alight with passion, said, "My eyes are NOT alight with passion!" She glanced seductively over her shoulder towards Harry and her eyes blazed with emotion. Harry gave her a look that spoke of a fathomless unspoken yearning. "I did not glance at you seductively!" said Hermione.

"And the only yearning I have is for firewhisky!" said Harry.

Voldemort, his regal face dark against the moonlight, said, "Moonlight? Moonlight? You said it was sunrise earlier! Like a melting heart as well, whatever that means? The last heart I melted I used a spell, not my regal face." He considered a moment. "Well, I must admit my face is rather regal."

Ron looked longingly over at Hermione, his face aching with desire. "For firewhisky! I'm aching with desire for firewhisky! Who's writing this stuff?"

"We seem to be trapped in a Mills and Boon Romance novel," said Voldemort with his firm and sensual lips. "My lips are not firm and sensual! They are evil lips! Evil! Make me look an evil snake-headed git, I told the plastic surgeon! If I get out of here I'm going to sue him back to the stone age!"

"How do we get out of here?" said Ron quickly, in a vain attempt to stop a romantic one line tag being attached to his line. Too late, Ron realised his long red locks were flowing in the breeze. "Locks? Locks? It is hair! Hair! Not a bunch of padlocks!"

Voldemort thought for a moment, his aquiline face and body resembling Auguste Rodin's The Thinker. "I'm not sitting down naked, thank you very much!" said Voldemort. "There's only one way to get out of a romance story, and it's not pretty."

"What's that?"

"You've got to kiss the hero," said Voldemort seductively. "Me."

With a horrible squelching sound later they were out of the romance book section.

Voldemort looked around at where they were now. He looked nervously about. "No romantic comments?" He pushed his greasy black mousy hair back from his forehead. "Greasy black mousy hair. That's better." He clapped his hands together. "Right kids, we are exactly where we want to be! This is to show you what the future holds because of what you kids have done!"

"Why's that?" asked Harry, as the ropes fell off him.

"We're going to put back all the evil you took out of the world!"

"What? Why?" asked Hermione. "I'm not going to do that!"

"Have you seen what the future holds for the world after what you've done to it?" Voldemort swept his arm back to show a scene of absolute devastation and horror…

Gossamer winged Fairies were flitting around delicately from mushroom to mushroom. Cheerful red hatted gnomes were wishing each the joy of the day in falsetto voices. The sky was a deep blue colour. The clouds were heavy with magical lands, each with a land more exciting than the last. The land of Fireworks drifted past with an amazing technicolour display of sparks and flames. The land of playground rides was full of queues. The land of First Person Shoot'em-ups had been blown away from the adult section and was starting a minor war with the Land of Make Believe.

"The horror! The horror!" said Ron as a snow-white unicorn trotted up to him and gave him a friendly lick. "Eerrrrhh!" He shuddered. "Unicorn spit! Ewww!"

"Where are the people?" asked Hermione.

Voldemort waved his arms in the time-honoured way to make the next vision appear. "Here!"

Healthy young well toned men and women (which was rather curious considering the lack of gyms about) dressed in white togas were lounging about being served grapes and fruit juice by cherubims and seraphims (for those of you that don't know what a seraphim is, join the club!) The sky was a deep blue; the grass was a bright green. In the distance could be seen a herd of flying horses. In this reality people washing their togas have more to worry about than the occasional bird flying overhead…

"They're enslaving the fairy kingdom!" said Hermione indignantly as she saw some mermaids washing a number of togas. In the distance could be seen some dragons offering a flying bus service. Red dragons were the express magical city to magical city service while the blue slow dragons stopped at every jewel filled cave and enchanted wood going.

"Yeah, but what are you going to do?" said Ron, stealing a grape from a plate offered by a floating cherubim.

"We need to restore balance to the world," said Voldemort.

"Why?" asked Harry, accepting a glass of what looked like wine from a centaur. He sipped it and shuddered. "Eeerrrh! It has no alcohol. Hey, hoof boy," he said to the centaur. "Yeah that's right, you the one with the long blond hair. I want a drink, and put some muscle in it."

He brought over another glass. "Thank you." Ron sipped at it and shuddered as he pulled out a clump of black shelled mussels. "I don't want to be pulling out half the cast of 'The Little Mermaid' every time I order a drink here. Where's the alcohol, horse boy?"

The centaur trotted over to him. "We have no alcohol in this world. This place is heaven on earth! The world is at peace, there are no wars, plagues or famines. Crime has been consigned to the history books and the history books have been consigned to the swamp; everyone is happy!"

"I'm not happy, mush, there's no alcohol. If you don't trot over and get me some we'll see how happy you are with my boot up your..."

"Ron!" said Hermione. "Why are you serving human kind? What about your wants and needs?"

"I just want and need everyone to be happy," said the Centaur.

"Right," said Hermione, picking up a rosy red apple in passing from a tray held by a churub. "How do we destroy this hellhole?" She wafted away a small fairy that was trying to fan her brow with a gentle breeze.

"Okay," said Voldemort, cracking his knuckles together. "I know this is not normal but we need teamwork for this."

"Anything to get some firewhisky," said Ron and Harry together.

"The first thing we need to do is to go back in time and take over the media Empire and bring some nasty stories to people's attention instead of all the happy smiley ones. Okay Hermione, change your clothes to something provocative and follow me, we're going back in time…"

The headquarters of the Global Media Market was a huge glass covered building towering over the Manhattan skyline…

Voldemort whispered to Hermione, "I said wear something provocative!"

"I am!" said Hermione, pointing at her t-shirt that said 'Wanna fight, ugly?'

"I didn't mean like that… Just a minute, everyone shut up, they're coming into the meeting!"

A smug looking businessman came over and shook Voldemort by the hand. "Hi, Mr Voldemort, I'm Brad Cornwell, head of the European Media Wing. I was sorry to hear about your predecessor. What happened to him?"

"Trampled by a herd of zebras."

"I didn't know he was on safari."

"He wasn't, he was in his office," said Voldemort impatiently. "Can we get on with this meeting?"

"How did zebras get in his office?"

"Because we couldn't fit in an elephant," hissed Voldemort. "Can we carry on with our meeting?"

"Yes, yes of course," said Brad Cornwell. He leafed through some papers. "I understand you want to take our media Empire a whole new way?"

"Yes," said Harry, getting to his feet. "We think your articles need a whole new slant."

"What do you mean?" asked Brad.

"Well, let's face facts, your stories are not particularly evil," said Harry. "I mean look at these headlines. 'Mrs Miggins hands out apples to orphans' and 'Levels of happiness reach new highs'"

"What were you thinking?"

Harry and Voldemort grinned. "We'll give you some ideas," they said together.


End file.
